The Fiddle and The Drum
by keenan24
Summary: Set after season 1, Something is brewing in Camelot, uberknownst to its rulers and inhabitants. A war is coming changing the fate of the Kingdom, bonds will be broken, truths will be revealed and a love will bloom in the most unusal of places.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello everyone, Fanfic newbie here. **

**Here is my tiny offering to help with the Merlin and A/G withdrawal. **

**The fic is an AU set after season 1, it's kind of my own version of season 2 in a kinda sorta maybe dark fairytale setting. Some events of season 2 didn't happen, mostly the A/G bits so no awesome first kiss of love, nor passionate kiss in the tent, even less teh hug of destiny (sorry). **

**It is definitely A/G but has a lot of Morgana as the two women will be the core of the story. Anyway, I ramble.  
**  


* * *

* * *

'Are you sure it is the girl?'

'Yes, your Highness, she is the one the Priestess had witnessed in her visions.'

'Good'. With a subtle nod, the guard was dismissed, scurrying out without further notice.

A slender womanly figure, draped in a long sleeved gray robe, a white belt adorned with 13 tiny crystal rocks holding it at her waist, paced in the castle's Grand Hall.

The place was an outstretched space, bare of all furnishing but mirrors posing as walls, shining with an unforgiving light only rivaled by the color of her sunny locks. Her soft features and ivory skin could easily be mistaken for that of a dainty gentlewoman, no doubt highborn or of patrician ancestry; if it wasn't for the unfeeling intensity flashing from her red eyes and the aura of might she exuded.

She had been labeled a handful of epithets stretching from your Highness to 'that shiny bitch', strangely the latter never uttered to her face, but she was commonly known as Brunhild, Queen of the Kingdom of Erythrea, reigning on the 6 kingdoms of the Empire of Light, a magical realm in a parallel sphere to that of Earth, with hidden gates the only passage between each world.

Today, Brunhild was feeling content. The tension that had been building inside her for months, or was it years, had finally been pacified upon the message she received from the Priestess Aife.

She finally found her, the witch they have been searching for all these years, since Igraine's daughter hadn't been enough. An evanescent smile brushed her lips, the features of a young dark haired beauty forming in her mind. _You'll be ours soon, my dear Morgana_.

* * *

An aching scream pierces through her room. Morgana jerks up from her bed, her eyes wide, fear and an unknown force tugging at her stomach.

Something within her screams for its release and she surrenders to it, opening her eyes now turned a burning yellow.

The room is shaking around her, her blue eyes lured by the crystal vase set on the table at the center of her room. It shatters into a thousand pieces under her gaze, the flowers it had been sheltering turning into ashes. White mist brushes against her skin, its moist slowly vanishing into the now cold air, as if it were never really here.

A loud knock tears the young woman out of her trance, she sees her maid, Gwen, rush over to her, engulfing her into a protective embrace. Her head is spinning, she feels cold, dizzy and nauseated. She clings to Gwen, still trembling.

'They tried to hurt me… The shadow… it tried to-'

'It's over now. It was just a bad dream. Calm down, breathe.' Gwen smoothed the damp dark hair under her fingers, cursing these dreams for returning once again to consume her mistress.

She doesn't understand. The past year had been quiet, Morgana's incubi seemingly inclined to ease their hold on her mind, letting her grow into a stunning woman; her ethereal beauty matching a fierce character as well as a free thinking and bright spirit; who turned the heads of many noblemen across all Albion, the crowned Prince of Camelot himself.

Their relationship had been as intense as it was short-lived; to King Uther's despair since, imagining the future of his kingdom sealed, he had been championing a potential union as fiercely as he lobbied for a war against sorcery.

However, his skills, or actually lack thereof, as a love matchmaker had the reverse effect of giving his lovebirds another reason not to remain together.

It was eventually decided a close though confrontational friendship would be better suited than a stormy affair, as scorching as it might have been, for the well being of the kingdom and the sanity of their servants.

It had been months now and no dreams. _Until these past few nights_, Gwen thought. The nightmares came back two nights ago, leading Gwen to sleep in Morgana's antechamber so she could take better care of her.

Her mistress was now calming down in her arms; she kept rubbing her back, trying her utmost to soothe her to sleep. As she heard her lady stifle a yawn, Gwen let out a relieved sigh and tucked a now exhausted Morgana in her bed, the young woman instantly drifting into a peaceful rest.

Gwen stayed a little longer to make sure she was in a deep slumber before scanning the room for anything out of the ordinary.

Her eyes quickly spotted the sparkling glass on the floor. Frowning, Gwen approached the shattered vase, kneeling down before tiny crystal shards sprinkled with ashes. _My gods, what happened here?_ She knew Morgana's dreams were peculiar as they always seemed so vivid and, well, had never failed to materialize into reality if only partially. But this was something new.

The vase wasn't broken as though it fell accidentally or someone threw it on purpose. It was rendered into a dusty cluster of glass, with no water, nor flowers scattered aside as a recollection of its former use. _Just ashes_.

Gwen glanced once more to her mistress form. She seemed peaceful, her breathing steady in a slow rhythm. A thread of dread started churning her stomach. She shook her head instead and proceeded to lie on the lounging chair in Morgana's room.

Tomorrow she will remove the splinters and anything that should remind her friend of this night.

* * *

It's early. The morning dew has just settled its damp mark on the Kingdom creating a thin veil set to disappear as soon as the sun appears.

Camelot wakes up in waves.

The gypsies and beggars are first to leave their slums at the city borders, nearby the woods, preparing to head up to the lower ward and higher town for another day of begging and fortune telling.

On their way up, they are met by the sounds of hurried servants in the dirty streets of the lower ward rushing toward the castle; page boys, grooms, cooks, laundry women, scrubbers, handmaidens, nobles' domestics; an army of cheap frocks scurry to the palace with the imposing Head Cook as their leader.

Some of them are swayed off their route by the sweet aroma emanating from the baker's shop in the higher town, his first batch on display while Camelot's shops are opening one by one and the milkman is joining the marching army to make his daily delivery.

The town's buzzing is fast meddling with the chorus of the royal palace staff attending to the day to day chores, while their masters are soundly asleep for another few hours.

Gwen is rushing through the corridors, heading toward Morgana's quarters, her breakfast tray in hand. She had just finished cleaning up the vase splinters, and with Mary's help, another lady's maid, she had prepared her mistress hot bath.

She's too busy replaying last night's events in her mind to avoid colliding with a manly figure, as she turns the corner of the corridor.

'Ooof, easy there.' The man catches her tray, preventing it from spilling all of its contents.

'Pardon me, I'm so sorry, I wasn't watching my steps, please forgive me' She apologized profusely without looking at her victim, trying to take her tray back but apparently the mysterious man was having none of it.

She lifts her eyes to see who she collided with, only to meet Camelot's Heir amused grin and speculative look, all disheveled hair and dirty clothes back from an early training session.

Her heart swooped in her throat, her sole response being a faint smile and an eloquent 'Oh'.

'Hello, Guinevere. Fancy meeting you here.'

'Good Morning, Sire. … And, well, I work here so it's highly likely you would meet me here, My Lord.'

'Oooh, touchy are we today?'

'No, just perceptive, My Lord' He grins at her comeback and she can feel her heart beating faster.

She tries to regain some semblance of composure and softly tugs at her tray. To no avail. 'I would need the tray back, Sire. The Lady Morgana is waiting for her breakfast'

'Hmm. Perhaps if you would enlighten me on why you have been avoiding me since the Questing Beast attack, I could give it some thought.'

It had been several months since that fateful night and she believed she had almost succeeded in vanishing from the Prince's line of sight, reclaiming her rightful place in the crowd of unknown faces and disposable souls hidden under the shade of their blue blood masters' aura.

Gwen heaves a sigh. This has the makings of a very long day.

'I haven't been avoiding you, Sire. I just had finished tending to my duty helping Gaius and had been busy attending the lady Morgana, as I should.' She tried to remain the more detached possible, hoping someone would burst in and save her from Arthur's hold. Morgana's bath was getting colder by the minute and her lady needed attendance, especially after last night.

'Is that so? I actually thought it was due to what you said. The man I am inside and the great King I will be…' with a raised eyebrow, and a smug smirk adorning his lips, Arthur leaned a bit closer toward Gwen, watching the maid squirm with embarrassment and annoyance.

Gwen closed her eyes to even her breathing, searching for a way to escape. Flat out denial seemed the only choice at hand.

'I don't understand what you are saying, My Lord and my place should be by the Lady Morgana. She needs me, Sire.' Arthur's reply was cut short by the urgency in Gwen's eyes, her fidgeting and irritation replacing the usually calm and demure composure she always harbored.

'What's wrong with Morgana?'

Weary brown eyes met his blue ones, a mirror to the nagging uneasiness she couldn't will away. 'her dreams are troubling her again. Last night has taken a toll on her. Milady is getting weaker by the day and I don't know how to help her, My Lord'

Arthur frowns in acquiescence - he had learned earlier about his father's ward newfound lack of sleep, 'Yes, I heard. It seems they're more vivid this time around'

'They are My Lord'

Arthur studies the young woman who seems to carry the burden of these dreams as much as her mistress. 'You really care for her, don't you?'

'She's a good mistress, and I think and hope she sees me as a friend.'

'I'm sure she does'. He releases the tray from his grip allowing Gwen to resume her walk to her lady's chambers. She stays put instead, worrying her lip, on the verge to ask something of him but not daring while silence falls between them.

_Guess I should take matters into my own hands_. 'What is it Gwen?'

She fidgets, her eyes fixed on her tray, 'Well since My Lord and Lady Morgana had a shared history…'

He grimaces, 'Yes a mistake which ended several months ago and sure as hell won't happen again. Ever'

She nods, nonplussed, 'perhaps you could talk to her and ease her mind of these dreams. I know you both enjoy indulging in fights but I think she listens to you and I believe she would need all the help she could be offered.'

A small smile tugs at Arthur's lips while he watches the petite maid express her concern for her friend. He wonders why he never noticed her before.

Granted, she had always been cast in the shadow of her beautiful mistress or rushing to some duty of hers but still, in all the time they grew up together she only accounted for a dash of curly hair following Morgana around. Until Ealdor, that is.

'Would you want me to?'

'Oh, well don't do it for me, I couldn't ask, it's for the Lady Morgana, it's for her and-'

'Fair enough but I need a favor in return'

_As if the day couldn't get worse_. Gwen knew she would regret this. 'Anything'

His suggestive raised eyebrow forces her to add 'Almost anything, as long as it is proper, that is, Sire'

Arthur lets out a huff in mock hurt

'I'll pretend you didn't just question my honor. No, actually, it appears you're both friends with my idiot servant and my shrew of a sister. This led me to wonder why I didn't claim your much sought after friendship either?'

_Perhaps because you definitely are his Royal Pratness, Sire_.

'So I decided I should learn to know you better and we should converse, of… many things but mainly of this speech you're lying about.'

'I'm not-'

'Yes you are. Merlin told me you would be replacing the royal seamstress for a few weeks and I happen to have a bucket load of clothes to repair. You shall come to my room every week, to sew my clothes and do a bit of small talk. And no need to worry, Merlin will be there, of course.'

'Of course.' Gwen closes her eyes and, for the first time in her life, wished she had magic so to zap away the future heir to the throne from her eyesight. Forever. 'May I go, My Lord?'

'Sure, go, I'll talk to Morgana later in the morning'

Gwen offers him a tight smile meant as gratitude, 'Thank you Sire' she performs a quick curtsey before rushing to Morgana's chambers.

Arthur watches the maid go, absent-mindedly smirking until her little form disappeared from his sight. These coming weeks should be interesting, the girl seemed not easily swayed by his charms and he needed some distraction.

However, he had more urgent matters to tend to, the first of them - find that idiot servant of his.

* * *

Warmth soothes her senses, lulling her into slumber's comfortable embrace.

Morgana swoops underneath the bath water for a few moments. She has played this game for as long as she could remember.

Staying underwater as long as possible, helps clear the mind and unleash the residue of the fire she had not lost yet. She had to reclaim some control after last night, stop catering to the hollow growing in her, toying with her and leaving her helpless and afraid.

The need for air makes her come out of the water only to find Gwen rushing in her quarters all flustered and Gwenie, apologizing profusely in a confusing ocean of words including trap, food, tray and Arthur.

'It's alright Gwen; I like to think that I'm fully capable of taking care of myself unlike a certain Prince of Camelot'. They both snicker at the allusion as Gwen moves to wash her mistress. Morgana closes her eyes, her breathing falling in sync with the rhythm of Gwen's fingers drawing circles in her hair, surrendering to their appeasing caress.

The moment of calm is fast forgotten when her thoughts come rushing again, leafing through the pages of her memory, the night before reenacting under her closed eyelids.

She could make out the ghost of her vase appear. The finger of a chill runs down her spine, as she remembered how she felt when it shattered. _You mean when you completely destroyed it_. No. She didn't destroy it. She didn't move from her bed when hard crystal turned into white sand.

Only the power of magic could render this tangible piece of rock into a fleeting disposable memory. She wasn't magic; she merely had nightmares sometimes carrying some truth in them. And felt a surge of blinding might when the vase exploded_. Perhaps you should embrace it_.

Her brows knit and her eyes shut tighter, betraying the turmoil raging through her heart and soul. No. She couldn't embrace something she was not able to fathom. _All you have to do is surrender, Morgana_.

'I said NO!'

Gwen stops abruptly, the washing cloth still pressed on her lady's back. 'My Lady? What's wrong?'

She tries to even her breathing, not understanding herself what had just happened. Was she going mad? 'Nothing Gwen, I guess I'm just tired and my head hurts'.

'Are you sure? You're so pale, you can't sleep and you don't eat enough –'

'Thank you Gwen but I think I'm able enough to know how I feel. I need you as a servant, certainly not as a mother', she snaps.

This stung. 'I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. You're right-'

'No, please forgive me. The lack of sleep seems to flare my temper. Don't worry, I will be fine; just fetch me another draught from Gaius and all shall be well, yes?'.

She offers Gwen a small smile meant as a reassurance but it does anything but.

'Of course, let me help you dress up first.'

Gwen helps her get out of bath, and proceeds to prepare her for the day.

From the corner of an eye, she watches Morgana play with her food while she makes her bed and tidies her room.

Her chores finished, she silently goes to see Gaius and request a stronger draught than the last one.

Morgana looks grim. She replays the words in her head over and over again. _Perhaps you should embrace it_.

* * *

'Pardon me, but I think I might not have heard well. This girl is the one we need?! This lowly, powerless, unassuming thing?'

'I knew you could be sometimes stubborn Amel. But I never thought you would be deaf as well.'

'Do not try to avoid the point, Ethel. She cannot be the one!'

Ethelfleda, short name Ethel, sighs in exasperation.

Little bolts of electricity snap from her fingers, their growing frequency a sure sign of her building frustration.

She shouldn't be surprised though, she knew they would be hard to convince. She had experienced difficulty to acknowledge it as well.

It couldn't have been; her sister, Sukreth, one of the 9 goddesses of Oya, pregnant. Worse: impregnated by one of those filthy humans, whose name she can't even recall. _Seems like he didn't make that much of an impression after all_. Sukreth fell in love with him, a man, a human.

Betraying Oya's dogma for which she paid the price, dearly.

Oya is a hidden realm, seemingly unknown to other magical kingdoms and entities. It shelters a matriarchal community built around 9 powerful deities.

The people of Oya are exclusively female warriors, all of them witches training to perhaps become goddess when they turn of age. They are watchwomen, guardians of the fleeting balance between the 4 realms of the Universe, the Light, The Dark, Earth and Oya.

Unfortunately, this balance had been threatened by a purge led by humans, back in the old days, a purge against magic leaving the worlds they ought to care for on the verge of complete oblivion.

Only distant thoughts of forsaken lands will await them without the help of the girl.

'I know it is hard to imagine. But the prophecy says she is the only one who could help us. She's our sole way to the crystal.'

'She's filth and a bastard', this time the dissent voice is that of Andraste.

'I advise you not to forget it is my niece you are addressing. Tread very carefully Andraste' Ethel's steely stare silences her peer 'you've all read the prophecy and heard the results of the search parties. There is no room for doubt'

Silence falls upon the Quorum, each goddess pondering on this new and vital revelation.

'Fair enough', Amel is the first to break the silence 'What would you have us do?'

'I will descend to Earth with Andraste in our human forms and meet her. You, Aisha and Morrigan try to learn what Brunhild is planning. Scatath, Amman, Mika and Ereyja, prepare the army, shelter the girls and forge more weapons'

'Do you really see a war coming upon us?' Amman's inquiry spoke for all the women in the room.

Ethel tries to offer a reassuring smile, but her ever pragmatic nature overtakes her endeavor at optimism 'I hope we will find a way to avoid it but I fear these are dark times ahead of us'

* * *

Metal clangs against metal. Gwen is trying to absorb Morgana's attacks blow by blow, her shoulders squared, engaging in a dance for control over her opponent's rhythm.

_Just be patient, she will frustrate eventually. Wait for the opening and attack_.

She dodges another strike, jumps on the chair and launches an attack on her lady's unprotected right side. The dark haired beauty's quick thinking prevents the hit pushing Gwen back on her heels.

She sidesteps on the left, turns around and attacks Morgana's right side again but this time in two quick strikes, one on the right pushing her lady to be unbalanced, the second a swing from left to right twisting Morgana's grip on her sword.

The force of the blow makes the blade fall to the ground.

'Good strike.' Gwen cannot hide her smile at the small tone of admiration in Morgana's compliment.

'Thank you, My Lady. I believe you taught me well'.

'Well you're certainly a fast learner Gwen. And following your instincts instead of the fighting rules. I like that.'

'I have to … with my lack of technique'

'Nonsense. Technique is thought way too highly of. Besides, it gives you the advantage of surprise, which could be vital in real fights'.

Morgana stretches her arms and lets out an un-ladylike grunt, the frenzy fast giving way to exhaustion. 'I guess we can call it a lesson for the day, I'm feeling a bit sore. Could you draw me a bath and set my chambers? I need some bit of sleep'.

Gwen frowns in confusion 'I thought Gaius new draught helped you at night?'.

'It does but I still feel I could use some rest. If you don't mind that is.'

'Oh no. I didn't mean to patronize you My Lady. I just tend to worry too much sometimes'

'It's alright Gwen just prepare my room will you, I'll practice a bit before my bath'

'Right away.' She watches Gwen leave and her mind goes back to the draughts. _The drugs_.

Morgana was growing wary of the physician's concoctions. They made her feel weak and sedated most of the time, comfort fast becoming an alien feeling crawling out of her skin.

She abhorred not disposing of her body and mind under the bridle of her will, a temptation to least resistance offered by the old man's poisonous potions.

She pretended taking the draughts and went as far as sending Gwen back to her home so she could freely indulge in her new fancy. She had managed to get a hold of a few books on dreams, visions and their significance, firmly set on uncovering the darkness within that constantly demanded feeding.

Her need for answers had however translated into less time with Gwen much to her chagrin as she noticed how the maid was worrying in silence. At least, they still had their sparring routine, a welcome distraction to the spiritual doom and gloom she has surrounded herself of lately.

She picks up her sword and resumes training. Her chambers were not ready and she needed some adrenaline rush.

* * *

Arthur got out of his bath and toweled off. He put his breeches on before tumbling on his comfortable bed, letting out a grumble of annoyance. Anger, frustration and exhaustion formed a silent legion waging war against any appeasing of his mind.

This morning had been hell; first, he found out his knights only tolerated him out of fear instead of respect, sparing him on the training ground because of his status. Even his most trusted friend, Sir Leon, had been playing along this masquerade.

He then went to inquire of Morgana's health. He hadn't found time to see her these past weeks between his Prince duties and her recent tendency to lock herself in her quarters. As expected, the friendly courteous visit turned into a fight as he left the shrieking harpy to her books, regretting his small gesture of affection.

As alarming as her state could be, this was far from novelty. Morgana had been suffering from those dreams since she was 13. Nightmares appeared in phases, troubling her during small spaces of time, the phases growing more frequent as the girl shaped into a woman.

He witnessed firsthand, not without a small tinge of jealousy, how his own father consumed himself in worry and had Gaius prepare stronger draught after stronger draught, with no sustainable effect.

Still, he couldn't shake the distress in Gwen's eyes when he met her a few weeks ago, her discreet plea and insistence showed fear for the person he now considered a sister. At least when she didn't indulge in temper tantrums.

'No matter. The crazy harpy can sod off, for all I care.'

He gets up, heading toward his breakfast on the table. As he eats, his eyes wander over the stack of papers and security reports he is yet to finish for his Father.

He mentally winces at the amount of work ahead of him, beside the tournament he has to prepare for – and win. _No doubt with some help from the neighboring knights as well. They must have gotten the message by now_.

A rush of anger surges through him as he tears his eyes from his study. They fall on a bunch of worn out shirts he had Merlin pile up for him. A smile tugs at his lips. He forgot about them until Merlin inquired about it this morning. He can still remember his servant's confused look when he asked him to fetch Gwen to attend to his shirts.

He needed to talk – _or vent_ - to someone and Gwen was the new feature in the gallery of scarce friendly faces his mind could conjure. She was also the only one at his disposal likely to lend an auspicious, if not understanding, ear to his royal pity parties; Merlin would snicker, Morgana was downright scaring him and Uther is certainly not man of idle talk and opening of hearts.

Besides, as averse as he was to the thought of this curly haired servant striking a chord in his deepest thoughts and most aching needs, he had to admit he was desperate for the sort of reassurance and validation fueling a young boy's desires to become the man he dreamed to be.

The small glimpses of faith she had bestowed to him seemed to fill this long bore void.

Laughter and hurried steps tear him off of his sulking session giving way to whispers and a knock.

'Come in.' Merlin steps into his chambers followed by Gwen. The young woman's eyes widen as she takes in the Prince's shirtless toned body and his still wet and disheveled hair completed with a smug smirk on his lips.

The Crowned Prince may be a bully, but he was a fine looking one. _Whatever happens, Gwen, Do. Not. Leer_.

'Good morning My Lord', she curtsies low and looks everywhere but at him.

'Hello Guinevere, I take it you forgot about our little arrangement?'

'Not at all My Lord, I just thought you would not need me anymore, now that the Royal Seamstress was back', Gwen caught Merlin's befuddled expression as his eyes went back and forth between his master and her friend.

She can also feel Arthur's stare on her while she trains her eyes on the floor.

'Hmm, well I don't recall ever informing you not to come. Especially as I went to see your dear Morgana and nearly escaped getting slaughtered. I'll let you know she even threw a plate at my head'

'Sadly she missed' Gwen stifled a giggle at Merlin's cheeky reply. Her smile disappeared instantly though at Arthur's glare.

'Merlin?'

'Yes, Arthur'

'Shut your gob. Try to be useful for once. Take care of my bath and take the tray back to the kitchens. Now'

His snide tone brooked no argument. 'Yes, right away … Sire' Merlin took his tray and hurried to the Palace kitchens.

Gwen stayed silent, trying not to fidget under Arthur's scrutiny, well aware of the Prince's foul mood and the tension in the room. She spots the pile of shirts

'Are these the shirts you wanted me to tend to, Sire?'

'Yes, take a sit' he gestures to the chair beside the table across from him. Gwen nods, goes to take a handful of shirts from the pile and places them as well as her sewing kit on the table.

She takes her place across from him, the table as shield between them. Arthur studies her as she opens her kit and starts working on his shirts. Her eyes never leave her fingers, nor the cloth.

'Are you going to remain silent?'

'Sewing doesn't require much talk, Sire.' She's piqued. So is he.

'Funny, I always believed it was rude not to look at the person one's talking to'

Gwen sighs. She takes a deep breath and lifts her annoyed gaze to meet a pair of defiant blue eyes. She's surprised to notice a genuine smile of gratitude that somehow found its way on Arthur's lips.

'Thank you. See, I don't bite'

'No you don't, My Lord' _Do. Not. Stare. For God's sake, Gwen_. She quickly draws her attention back to her sewing, her only way not to look at Arthur's bare chest.

As if on cue, he walks to his wardrobe, puts on a white shirt and sits back across from her with the stack of papers he took from his study, looking at her with a raised eyebrow

'Better?'.

This time she can't help a shy smile blossom on her lips, the moderate and self effacing version of his cocky and brazen one, while their eyes sign a silent truce easing the constricted mood surrounding them. Perhaps small talk wouldn't be so bad after all.

'Merlin told me the morning didn't go very well, My Lord?' she mentally winces at her gaffe. _Indeed Gwen, perfect way to start a conversation_.

Arthur grimaces as he studies his security reports while she takes on her fourth shirt. _Gods she's fast. Guess I will have to tear up some more clothes_. 'No, not really. It occurred to me that my knights treated me differently because of my status.'

'Well that is to be expected, Sire. You're the Crowned Prince after all.'

'Not if I am to lead them into battle. They shouldn't exempt me of any harm while I demand the best from them. We are all bound by the Knights code of respect and honor. There should be no preferential treatment. Not on the training ground anyway'

Gwen lifts her eyes, puzzled at the annoyance and, was it hurt?, she felt hidden in Arthur's curt reply. 'Perhaps, they fear they could hurt you and endanger your life, and as a consequence Camelot's future.'

'Then I might as well hide in the donjons or behind my father's breeches' Gwen's chuckle softens the resentment threatening to spoil his already improved mood.

'Indeed, I don't think the King would appreciate that, Sire', she takes another shirt,' I suppose you've already told them of the matter so this should be of no consequence'

'Not with the tournament coming up. If my knights let me win during training to spare me, then perhaps-'

'They let you win in tournaments as well' Gwen finishes his sentence for him.

'Precisely, Guinevere' Arthur's gaze finds hers and Gwen feels her heart beat faster. He seems to study her and a vague upturn of his lips tells her he finds solace in her ability to fathom what could otherwise be seen as another of his childish whims.

'What are you going to do then, My Lord?'

He's about to answer when Merlin bursts in, back from his trip to the kitchens, finding them seated at the table, Gwen with her sewing, Arthur with his reports. The scenery could almost be mistaken for a glimpse into young domesticity. Almost. Suddenly, something occurs to him. Of course, why hadn't he thought about it before?

'For God's sake, Merlin! What in this empty mind of yours is so averse to knocking? And wipe that stupid grin of your face, will you?'

'Arthur, I think I found a way for you to win the tournament and truly deserve it this time'

* * *

'Who was sent?' Her controlled anger sent chills running down Lord Seifer's spine, the Master of Guard of Erythrea.

'They call him Myror, Your Highness, apparently a deadly assassin known among the King's circle'

'It appears Odin couldn't wait for your master plan to come to fruition, My Queen', Aife, Erythrea's Priestess, Ruler of Maheris and vassal to Brunhild, lazily conjured some grapes as she seated on the large lounging chair in the royal quarters, her silver silky toga giving a teasing glimpse of equally smooth caramel skin.

'I guess we should teach him how patience is valued as high virtue in our lands' Brunhild is surveying her kingdom through the glass of her imposing castle.

After a few aching seconds, she turned to her Master of Guard 'Inform our agent of Myror and dispose of Odin'

'Yes Your Highness, how should we kill the King?'

'Surprise me. Just make it appear as an unfortunate accident. I don't need Ethelfleda suspecting anything yet.'

'Of course Your Highness' with a dismissive nod, he is sent to end Odin's fate.

'These human's are men of little faith. Odin's foolishness will have the better of him'.

Brunhild smiles, still watching over her lands - 'Odin's mistake could reveal itself fruitful for us. You shouldn't be so hard on them; they have been blessed with reason and free will after all-'

'Yes and now they're all confused. Well, at least they won't be misguided for long, after we get a hand on that crystal.'

'Indeed.' She turns to her vassal. 'How is everything going with Morgana?'

'She saw what you wanted and should be ready to help us in no time.'

'Perfect, keep following her state; she will be our most potent ally when push comes to shove'

'As you wish, My Queen'

* * *

Morgana hurries through the cloisters leading to her quarters. She opens her chambers' doors to find her three companions waiting for her, Gwen fidgeting around, looking for something to do, Arthur pacing in the room while Merlin was sitting at her table, eating an apple.

'Lovely. Seems like I have my own welcoming committee' she deadpans as she pushes past an already exasperated Arthur, Gwen on her footsteps to take her cloak. She eases her aching feet from the new slippers, settling on her bed.

'Well, to what do I owe this collective burst of affection?'

'Don't you ever tire of being such a harpy?'Arthur was now glaring at her while the two servants braced themselves for another impending fight

'Well that's funny coming from the court's royal jester; at least I'm not ridiculed by my men because I'm too soft'

'That's because you're not capable of having any men'

'I'll let you know you were the first to eat in my hand-'

'Perhaps we should focus on why we're here … My Lady' three pair of eyes turned to Gwen who treaded closer to her mistress. 'It concerns My Lord's … um… troubles with his knights'

'Why would he need you for anything concerning his knights?'

Arthur steps forward and informs a befuddled Morgana of their plan. The fact that it wasn't completely nonsensical made her even more annoyed.

'And you couldn't find someone else than my servant to help you? You expect me to let her bear your insufferable presence at her home for a week? Don't you think I would need her too?'

'Do you know of someone better suited? Please enlighten me with your knowledge of common people, Morgana. I'm all ears'

This time logic wasn't on her side. 'Fine. And how will you find your replacement?'

It's Merlin's turn to fill in the blanks 'Well, there is this farmer, William; we thought we could teach him the ways of the court so he would act as a noble during the tournament'

'Yes but there's also the royal feast, and how he will conduct himself amongst other knights and noble guests, especially Uther'

'That's why we thought you could help us My Lady, perhaps if you could look after William during the banquet and show him how to behave with the King?'

Usually, she would have jumped at the chance. Instead she felt a pang of hurt at the thought of the three of them scheming and making plans without her 'So you only came to me because you needed my help.'

'Well, perhaps if you dignified us, poor souls, with your presence every once in a while you wouldn't be the last one informed'

Gwen glares at Arthur, who just shrugs, before sitting next to Morgana clasping their hands together. 'We have all been busy and it just happened we didn't have the chance to see you and tell you of the Prince's plan. There's nothing more, My Lady. You know I couldn't do this without your approval and your help'

'And though it pains me to admit it, we may need some of your scheming expertise', Arthur's cheeky attempt at easing the tension was welcomed by Morgana's pleased smirk and a smile from her maid.

'Alright, I'll help you lot save your plan. First, I have to see that William of yours, then we have to put together his background as a knight, where he is from, his family noble origins. He must be from a far away province, he should be less likely to be known or talked to. After that he will need clothes, fine clothes even for a provincial noble.'

Arthur and Merlin exchange a confused glance.

'Let me guess, you haven't thought about that, have you?'

'Hum, well, not really' She can't help snicker at Arthur's scowl, especially when Gwen is trying to stifle her laugh, 'I tried to tell them My Lady, but they seemed too focused on the tournament'.

'Then let's get to work shall we?'.

* * *

Awkward. The first few days could only be described as awkward. Gwen had been used to loneliness, learning to accept it as an essential part of her life since her Father's death. It was no mystery then she was experiencing difficulty taming her annoyance at this Prince who burst in her home like a tornado hitting a steady river.

At night, the annoyance turned to bitterness, when her thoughts drifted back to Tom, reminding her how careless and unaware Arthur was to the oddity of him living with her when his own Father was the very reason of her broken dreams and hardened heart.

Besides, his spoilt antics made her only question further why she still considered him the only route to a brighter future for Camelot.

She kept colliding with furniture in her own home, trying her best not to run into her royal guest, whose commanding and demanding presence was hard to ignore.

The Sisyphean task appeared nearly impossible to accomplish in her confined house, particularly when the Prince kept behaving like an overgrown baby.

The first night, he sent her to fetch him some water at the town's well. It was dark. The well was far up in the higher town. She was in the lower ward.

---------

'I swear Morgana. He left me to sleep on the floor.'

'Well, it's Arthur, Gwen. What did you expect? You should count yourself lucky. I spent 20 long years growing up with him. Although, thank the gods, we never had to share any rooms. Believe me; I could only imagine what you are going through'

'I don't think I could take this any longer, My Lady, Crowned Prince of Camelot or not'

'I would help you knock some sense into my prat of a brother but Sir William has taken up all my time. He's lovely, a bit discreet, but lovely and a welcome novelty from these smug brutes we call knights in this kingdom.'

'Indeed. I'm happy to know at least _you_ are entertained'

---------

The following days went slightly better.

Morgana and Merlin paid visits for moral support, to see if their friend had some sanity left, before the girls headed together to watch 'Men's version of art' as Morgana liked to call it.

Unfortunately, Arthur's version of art included destroying his clothes to the point Gwen had to spend hours mending them while Merlin took care of the armor.

The only thing saving her from throwing the Prince out of her home onto his lofty chambers was Arthur's genuine look of guilt while showing her the ruined shirts.

However, it didn't deter her from the plan she set up to chastise her august guest.

---------

'I can't believe you said that to his face', utter shock and glee collided in Morgana's wide eyes

'I feel a bit bad about it though'

'Nonsense, that arrogant imbecile deserved it. But go on, tell me, what did he do then?'

'Well, he apologized' Morgana stopped in mid snicker, a confused look replacing her gleeful anticipation. 'He did?'

'Yes, My Lady'

'And … ?'

Gwen felt herself tense under Morgana's inquisitive eyes '… and he's made efforts to be less of a prat, for which I'm grateful'

She couldn't tell her he offered to cook her dinner, nor the fight and his second apologies of the day. Knowing Morgana, she would pry for answers and set up outlandish theories Gwen is not sure she wanted to hear. Besides, nothing actually happened. _And nothing ever will_.

As modest as her roots might be, secrecy was the mere form of power she could call her own, the gate to the hidden shelter fostering her from Camelot's hardships and the royal court's taxing life. She wasn't ready to open this door to Morgana yet; albeit regarding her mistress as one of the few people she considered family

'Fair enough, I just wish I could have witnessed his blank look of utter disbelief'

'I wish you were there too. It was a sight to behold'

---------

He's tying his cloak, preparing for the final fight. For the first time, he feels weird. He feels like throwing up and his stomach is in knots. _Come on Arthur, you don't get nervous, remember? … Well maybe I do, actually!_

An equally jittery Gwen approaches the Prince. He tries to lift the shared sense of uneasiness with small talk but his eyes are fixed on the white piece of cloth the maid is fidgeting with, in her hands.

'I thought that you might wear it… for luck'

He takes the worn-out token, accidently brushing his fingers with hers.

'It might not be as smooth and rich as that of noble ladies but I hope it will do, Sire'

'Thank you' His gratitude is genuine and he hopes his smile conveys it.

She shrugs, offering him a nod in return, pleased her small gesture of confidence was appreciated. They stay silent for a while, not aware of how they should act around one another. The lines had been somewhat blurred during his stay, as they drift in this strange undefined place caught between deferential courtesy and genuine friendship, not fully grasping when the shift in their relationship happened.

'I should go; Merlin and William are waiting for me'

'Yes, of course. I have to join the Lady Morgana as well. I hope this token brings you luck. My Lord'

Still, he doesn't move. Instead, he takes her hand, bows and places a swift kiss on the back of her palm. He straightens up and offers her a 'Thank you, for everything' followed by a suave, 'My Lady'.

With a satisfied smirk he heads out of the door, leaving an astounded Gwen releasing the breath she didn't realize she had been holding. Her mind is buzzing, formulating denials of the affect of whispers of sweet insanity her heart tries desperately to shy away from.

---------

'Are you going to tell me or will I have to use other methods of persuasion? Trust me Gwen, they are painful', the glint of mischief in her lady's blue eyes made Gwen laugh at the empty threat.

'What is there to tell? You witnessed what happened just as I did'

'Indeed, I witnessed. I witnessed you rushing out of the arena as if the hounds of hell were on your tail when Arthur got hurt. You seemed pretty focused on helping him, and you stayed with him until he won the final battle. That's a lot of care for a bully you couldn't stand. Not to mention your little looks in court'

She stopped brushing the silky ebony hair, glancing at the beautiful reflection in the mirror, searching hard eyes staring at her. Gwen swallows thickly, a whiff of wariness making her throat dry.

'It's just that even though he can be a bully sometimes, I saw some good sides to the Prince as well. Those looks in court were only gratitude.'

'Arthur, grateful. Indeed. Let the world end now. Alright, then why did you rush out of court to my chambers, just after the council, and kept hiding in here?'

'I didn't. I was just tending to my duties, that's all, My Lady'

She can still feel her narrowed blue eyes studying and dissecting her every move and reaction.

'You know you can tell me anything, don't you, Gwen?'

Her eyes widen at her lady's hidden innuendo

'Morgana, I would never-'

'Of course Gwen, I know you wouldn't. It's just that he spent a whole week in your home and things can happen. I'm sure you've noticed Arthur is easy on the eyes. I just want you to be careful, that is all'

Her tensed shoulders slowly drop as Morgana's eyes turn softer, her mistress lips revealing a cheeky smile

'Besides, it wouldn't be so bad if he was interested in you. At least you could teach him some manners. The gods know that man needs it'

'Morgana!'

'Oh, lighten up Gwen. What could be so horribly wrong with you and Arthur being together?'

She should have felt relief in her mistress now light mood, but her gaze still held that icy inquisitive intensity no borrowed posture could keep hidden. Her inquiry felt like a test, a loaded question, not a jest.

'I can't say, My Lady, perhaps the fact you too share a past together-'

'That was ages ago, a foolish mistake bound never to happen again. Ever. Only in my dear bloodthirsty King of a guardian's dreams'

'Speaking of whom, you know King Uther is bound to accuse me of witchcraft again. In all honesty, once had proved enough already.'

'True but –'

'Besides it is ridiculous, I'm just a servant and a commoner, I know my place and I'm grateful for it. I don't want to be another of the Prince's mistresses. I don't even like him. My Lord has his fair share of stupendously beautiful ladies and highborn admirers to last him a lifetime. There's no need to further discuss this. Please.'

Morgana laughs at Gwen's scowl, turning to face her and taking her maid's calloused hands in her delicate ones

'My poor little Gwen, I'm sorry if I've made you ill at ease. This subject is closed from now on. But if Arthur ever bullies you or tries to romance you, tell me and I'll make it my personal pleasure to let his manhood know of our reluctance to his charms'

Gwen nods, a relieved smile mirroring Morgana's snicker. She heads to prepare her lady's bed while Morgana slips into her nightgown.

They hear the additional guard settle in front of her royal quarters, a protection ordered by Uther after the council meeting set for Arthur's return from his false magical beast hunting.

There had been a series of murders, resolved with the death of a certain Myror, sent by King Odin. They had been fearing for Arthur through the whole tournament, knowing an assassin was after him. These incidents led to new guard measures, more stringent this time around.

'Those guard changes are annoying. I can barely get out of my own chambers. I don't think my protection is that much a necessity. They were aiming at Arthur, after all'

'You shouldn't say that, My Lady. You too are seen as an important person to Uther. We were fortunate enough Arthur didn't suffer from worse injuries knowing he was competing against the assassin'

'All of it thanks to that young maid. If it wasn't for her informing the guard, Myror would have killed Arthur in a heartbeat. I wonder how she knew it was him.'

'What I don't understand is what happened to Merlin.' Gwen was picking her ladies gowns putting them in a basket for laundry.

'What do you mean?', Morgana climbed on her bed, settling on her comfortable mattress.

'He came rushing, telling me Arthur was jousting against the assassin and we ran only to find the joust was well underway. At one moment, I saw him take his head between his hands and pass out as if struck by an invisible force'

Morgana's eyes lighten as the memory flashes in her mind, 'Indeed. I remember seeing him fall while Arthur prepared to deal the final blow to Myror'

'Yes. When he came back to his senses, Myror was killed by the guard and I was helping Arthur get down of his horse.'

'Did he tell you what hit him?'

Gwen hooked the basket to her elbow and took her mistress dinner tray 'No, he just said he felt a sharp pain and fell'

And she thinks she saw his eyes turn yellow but when asking Merlin, he laughed it off, telling her it must have been the fear for Arthur, a trick of her mind or the reflection of the sun. _Yes, it must have_.

'Anyway, we survived another day, Camelot is safe, and you and Arthur-'

'Morgana'

Her lady stifled a yawn before settling under her covers a teasing smirk on her lips 'Alright. Not a word. Good night, Gwen'

'Good night, My Lady'.

* * *

Gaius puzzled expression defied the laws of mother nature when the old man's eyebrows rose higher than usual, threatening to disappear back into his skull

'You didn't feel his power before he attacked you?'

'No, and that is what I can't understand. He felt my presence but I couldn't feel his'

The physician and Merlin mull over the tournament's events while eating their dinner, the cozy warmth of his home casting a welcome atmosphere of peace, as if unaware of the buzzing world at their door.

'Then be careful Merlin, outside forces appear to have penetrated the royal Palace. I hope whatever is brewing will not be at our expenses'

---------

'Lord Seifer. Report'

'My Queen, all went as planned, Myror was killed, Prince Arthur is safe and Odin has been disposed of.'

'…and?'

'It seems our agent is not the only magical soul in the Palace. Your Highness'

A wave of whispers ripples through the witches congregation before vanishing into muffled sighs when Brunhild lets out the name on everyone's lips 'Emrys'.

'Mordred was telling the truth then; Emrys has found his way to Arthur' Brunhild silent musings find an echo in Aife's puzzled words

'How could you not see it?' Etna, another of Brunhild subjects, cast a reproachful glance at the Light's Priestess

'Balinor is no fool. He knew Emrys would have been our first target, had we known about his existence. He must have cast a disguise spell to protect him so I couldn't sense him'

With a flick of her fingers, Brunhild puts an end to the growing buzzing. 'Interesting. A new pawn has entered the game, My Ladies. Let us wait and see if he will remain a pawn or reveal itself as a worthy enemy or ally. Only time and patience could offer us the answers we seek.' She turns to Lord Seifer 'Tell her to keep an eye on our new friend and report everything she learns about him'

'As you wish My Queen'

'We won't stray from our course of action. If Emrys proves dangerous, we will deal with him in time. Aife, start the work on Morgana. She needs to be ready. My Ladies, prepare your armies, we might need them sooner than expected'

The queens of the 6 kingdoms of Light rose and bowed to their High Queen as one before treading out of Erythrea's Palace.

---------

As doors close in a distant land, others are opened when royal guards let him stride in the Council Hall to find his Father studying the last reports sent to the kingdom.

'You asked for my presence, Father?'

'Yes, Arthur. This week seems full of surprises. We have just learned of King Odin's death'

'A surprise, indeed. I guess he must have had wind of Myror's failed attempt to murder me'

Uther's frown, in place of the expected smug snort, suggests the opposite 'Not really. He actually passed away two days before Myror competed with Sir William in the tournament's final day. Rumors say he fell from his castle's highest tower'

Arthur screwed his features into a mask of disgust, followed by a questioning look toward his King 'Why would he kill himself without knowing whether Myror's mission succeeded?'

'In other words, I'm hard pressed to find any meaning to this. I knew Odin; he was a strong man of deeply rooted values and principles. He would have despised this kind of death. His son's dying may have made him bitter but he wasn't soft or prone to surrender.'

'So you think it could be a murder? If so it would have needed manpower, weapons, preparation, betrayal form the inside. It wouldn't have occurred so quietly, even with the distraction of the tournament'

Uther's eyes shine with anticipation as his son's musings fall in stride with his line of thoughts 'Yes, Arthur, there's only one way around it'

'Magic'

---------

'He didn't kill me though, he actually saved Arthur instead' they were now sipping the leftover ale Merlin had managed to smuggle from the Palace kitchens, still trying to comprehend the puzzling final day of the tournament.

'How so?' Gaius was leaning on his dangling chair, one foot on the table, while his magical companion was lying, his back on the floor, head tucked under his arm. They were not drunk by any means, just a bit tipsy, the required state of mind to come around the conundrum they were trying to make sense of.

'Well, everyone thinks it's the guard who killed Myror. But he's the one who did it'

'It was the guard I saw aim the crossbow at Myror'

'That's not what happened. See, Gwen and I arrived with Arthur being hit again and we feared he might get killed by Myror. I was about to cast a spell against the assassin when I felt a searing pain in my head as though my skull was being ripped out of my body. I've never felt anything like it in all those times I've fought magical beings. This magic was too powerful'

Gaius stopped dangling with his chair, looking at Merlin across the table 'Really?'

'Yes and I passed out. Well, not really, I could still hear and feel what happened around me but it was as if the spell took hold of my body and ruled it to sleep'

'So you know Arthur dealt Myror a final blow, making him fall from his horse and win the match'

'Yes, I heard the cheering. What I didn't see was what happened next'

'Myror was severely hit and struggled standing up. It turned out he was reaching for a concealed dagger. He was near Arthur and was about to throw the dagger when the guard hit the bow right through his throat'

It was Merlin's turn to straighten up and sit across his guardian. 'I heard the spell he used to make the guard kill Myror. It was one of the spells I saw in your books, the ones about old religion. It is the spell I tried to cast one day but couldn't and you told me it needed magic more powerful than mine for it to work'

'The persuasion spell? This spell has not been used for decades. Since the purge. Are you sure your mind did not trick you?'

'It was this spell, I swear, Gaius. And when I got up, Myror was dead, Gwen was helping Arthur to his tent and the sorcerer had vanished. I never felt his power the whole time he was there, only when I was under his curse'

To his credit, Gaius didn't let his features betray the dread building within him. It was as if he was back 20 years ago, the war between humans and magic had made him a bitter and secret man, having gone out of his way to conceal his betrayal under Uther's protection.

He knew the day would come when he will have to make amends. It seems like his demons were finally out after him, pulling down his halo of pretense so he recalled the deeds of the past he had cast away from his memory and passed for someone else's atrocious stories.

He just never thought they would use his past sorcery and long lost powers to find him. The persuasion spell was his spell, no one but him had mastered it. Until now.

Something beyond Merlin and Arthur destinies was at stake, brewing in the shadows of the Palace. He needed answers and he grimaced at the thought of the only place he would find them. _It appears our paths are to cross again, Kilgarrah_.


	2. Chapter 2

She's crouched in the far corner of her room when Gwen finds her. She is unable to breath, soaked in sweat, amber eyes wide and aglow in trance-like madness. Her mattress is ablaze, curtains dissolving into cindering dust. The windows have been ripped, glass scattered all over the floor, the remaining witnesses of the fury unleashed in these chambers. Gwen kneels before Morgana, petrified by the wild gold eyes locking with her terrified brown ones. 'My Lady, you have to stop this. Please, Morgana, stop!'

Her lady furiously shakes her head; the chandelier is ripped off the ceiling, vanishing in a shower of crystal washing over the two women, leaving their burning imprint on their skin. The roaring fire sends sparks flying, tiny arrows piercing the thick black fog advancing on them, paving way for its all consuming companion. Gwen takes her mistress face between her trembling hands, searching for a way to bring back sapphire shades into sunlit eyes, 'Morgana, I am begging you, stop this'

'I –I … I ca-…can't'

She can hear the murmurs of guards' distant shouts through the corridor while the acrid smoke stings their pupils, threatening to choke them in its deathly embrace. Gwen looks around the room; the door is not far behind, their only route to remain out of reach of the consuming beast, inching closer, poised to devour everything on its path.

She turns to Morgana and tries to lift her up but the lady struggles against her maid, her mind still enslaved to the force controlling her. Gwen takes a breath and in a desperate move slaps her mistress with all her might, hoping it would bring her friend back to her senses.

The spell is broken, its stranglehold recoiling from the witch's spirit but claiming her consciousness with it in its retreat when her body falls in Gwen's arms. She feels her eyes well up with tears as she tucks Morgana's body close to her, trying to crawl toward the elusive open door, key to their survival. The smoke makes every breath burn, abrading her throat, the young maid coughing out the ashes floating in the air.

She spots one of Morgana's night robes on the floor, at arm's length from where they lie. She takes it and drapes it over her friend to shield her from the rampant black wave while she pulls her body with excruciating difficulty to their salvation. Exhaustion gets the better of her when she trips on her dress and falls to the floor, hitting her head on the burning pavement. She closes her eyes in pain, a ballet of twisting and writhing colors dance before her eyelids, struggling to pull her body up. _Get up, Gwen, for Tom's sake, please, you must get up._

'Morgana!', Arthur's shout pierces through the flames howl and she has never been so glad to hear his voice until now.

'Yes, over here!', she can see the Prince and his guards muscle their way toward them, while servants throw buckets of water to tame the fire. Arthur reaches them and, with her help, lifts Morgana in his arms, Gwen following closely behind, holding his shirt as a safety net, the guards at the back protecting their escape.

Cold air slaps Gwen into reality when she crouches before an inert Morgana in Arthur's chambers while Gaius hovers above the young noble woman, bringing her out of her poisoned slumber. He makes her drink a concoction, and it's not long before she coughs it off, reaching for pure air. She opens her eyes to find a relieved Gwen, wiping tears from her cheeks before holding her mistress hands tight with her damp ones.

'Thank the gods you are alive. We feared we'd lost you'

Morgana could only offer a weak smile in response, exhaustion lying heavier on her slowly heaving chest.

'You should rest for now. Do not fret. I shall be right by your side when you wake up. Go back to sleep, My Lady'. She's too drained to nod, sensing her eyelids surrender to sleep and drifting through a darkness she hopes the incubi will not follow her to.

Gwen smoothes midnight strands from Morgana's face, tucking her lady in Arthur's bed. She almost jumps out of her skin when King Uther bursts in his chambers, the Prince and Merlin in his wake. Gwen, instinctively, steps back from the bed and goes to stand by the shadowy corner, watching Uther kneel before his son's mattress, features twisted in anger and concern, his fingers entwining with soft black locks. 'How is she?'

'Her breathing has returned to steady, Sire, she coughed the smoke out and has come back to us. She's resting for now. Tomorrow I will have her drink another draught and see how she feels. It is a miracle she is alive, My Lord'

'Thank the gods' A gloved hand traces the contours of her face, touches the grey stains on his ward's usually fair and smooth skin, turned transparent and scarred. 'You could have been burnt alive.' His whispered relief is meant as a reminder of what he had almost lost, of the young woman's rule on his cold and buried heart, a thought brushing against a sigh, as he leans over her and touches his wrinkled forehead with her smooth damp one.

Gwen feels Merlin approach, standing beside her while putting a protective arm around her shoulder. She relents to the servant's embrace, clinching his jacket as an anchor lest her inner strength should yield to her aching body 'Are you alright?'

'Yes, Merlin, I am fine. The night has been rattling. I am a little overcome'

'I know. We all are. Morgana owes you her life.'

'I didn't do much. It was fortunate I was close when …'

She shivers at the thought. She had been working until the late hours of the night, her chores ending way past the sun's last gleaming, and Morgana was adamant not to let her leave alone and unguarded to her home. She settled on sleeping in her antechamber for the night, instead. Her presence was indeed fortunate, fate's whimsical twist of the previously drawn out stories waiting to unfold, its change in the collection of happy accidents carefully set as to follow a foreseen pattern leading to her, the servant, offering her mistress another route to that of was chosen for her.

She can still hear her lady's cry for help, the howl of the flames, the sound of broken glass and ripped furniture crashing against her ears, drumming her mind in a maddening discord. She shuts her eyes tight, willing away the ghouls of questioning fears tormenting her every thought.

She straightens up as she sees Arthur and Uther discuss with Gaius, both royals sometimes casting glances her way. The King leaves and she reclaims her place beside her lady, while Merlin goes to discuss with Gaius.

'I believe we are indebted to you and should thank you for your rescue. You saved her life, Gwen' Arthur settles beside her on the bed, she doesn't turn to look at him though; her eyes are still trained on Morgana, fearing a mere blink from her would prove enough for her mistress to vanish, disappear as if never really here.

'It was my duty Sire. I couldn't have left her to die in the flames'

'As common as you believe it might seem, it was very brave of you'

She starts when she feels his fingers touch her temple, a stinging pain making her wince.

'You're hurt' she places her hand on the scratched skin, her fingers rubbing the dried blood

'It is nothing; I must have cut myself when I fell'

'You should see Gaius to clean the wound'

'I will, My Lord. In the morning. I promised I would stay by her side until she wakes up.'

She turns to look at him, hoping her pleading eyes would persuade him to let her remain by Morgana.

'I will have none of it. Gaius will attend to your wounds right this moment; Merlin will take you to the spare room, next to the physician quarters. You are exhausted and hurt. I will not have you tire yourself to death'

She shakes her head frantically, tightening her hold on Morgana's clasped hands, 'Forgive me Sire but I pledged I wouldn't forsake her to her troubled nights, she might wake up again and-'

'Guinevere.' She closes her eyes in resignation; well aware the argument is lost when the velvet caress of his soft, yet resolute, tone uses the newfound weapon of her full name to coax her into surrender. 'This is an order. I will stay with Morgana tonight. You bear the scars of this night as well, you need rest.'

He smiles at her scowl, tucking wayward curls behind her ear. She nods and eventually joins Merlin and Gaius waiting to take her home.

* * *

Merlin helps Gaius put away his tools and books while the old physician paces his room, a mere shadow among the sunlit house, ribbons of morning light covering their home in their warmth.

His mind is still reeling after the fire occurred the night before, leaving him drowning in a sea of inquests and queries only deepened with Morgana's visit. The young noble woman appeared exhausted and frightened. She had answered Gaius inquiries and left with a draught the physician had given her to cast her nightmares away. Uneasiness kept nagging him as he witnessed his guardian's sharp interest in the lady's turmoil, turning a curative visit into a questioning session. Listening to the young woman's rendition of her tribulations had him realize Morgana's ordeal was similar to that of a young girl he had heard of in Ealdor. She too had suffered the yoke of prophetic visions, at first considered nightmares tormenting a fragile spirit until the girl set fire to a royal guard trying to assault her mother. The same night, her parents were visited by two women, said to be witches, who took the girl with them, before the arrival of Uther's forces in the morning.

A slew of reminiscent visions parade in his psyche, a gallery of hastily displayed paintings that twist and dance in the chaotic web of his mind, urging him to see the repeating pattern he failed to grasp at first thought. Indeed, he recalled that not one but every single girl who turned out to bear magic had vanished from his village, some said to be taken by ghosts, others believed to be captured by monsters. Their parents went back to their lives as if they never existed, all traces of their fleeting stay in Ealdor scrupulously erased. Only their spirit remained, lost ghosts hauntingly searching for their way home.

'How is it so senseless for Morgana to have magic?'

'I don't believe it Merlin', the physician sits at the common room's table, across from his apprentice. 'There is no reason the fire and the dreams could be tied together. She's the King's ward, she has nightmares troubling her nights, an ailment common to those with weaker mind-'

'Morgana is everything but a weak mind-!'

'So you think. I wandered this land way longer than you have, Merlin. I've come to learn about men and witnessed their failings and misdeeds. Beheld strong minds destroyed because the more frail ones were perverted by evil. And let me tell you that evil most sought after victims are those of the weaker sex, more poised to let their affect rule over their spirit, their passion overcome their reason. It would prove dangerous to allow them to bear the burden of power. They are care givers, not fighters. Do not feed her with this foolishness.'

'Forgive me but I don't believe in your practice of secrecy and hiding. If Morgana is magic, it is our duty to tell her of her true self.'

Gaius grumbles in frustration, perceiving the young warlock's pathetically concealed fondness for the lady itself. Despite the killings of magical people he perpetrated for the sake of their unsuspecting Prince, the young boy still held a sort of innocence in its heart, too easy to yield for those with hidden interests at stake. He would be damned if he let his hold on the apprentice slip in favor of the Witch.

'Believe me Merlin, she is not magic. And even if she were, her knowing would only lead to disaster. I've warned you countless times against any rash thinking, and it always turned out true. Why not trust me on this matter as well? If the lady Morgana's well-being is dear to your heart, you shall leave her be.'

'Why isn't your faith in me enough to reveal the whole truth? I know you're not telling me everything Gaius.'

'Because you are not ready to know the truth yet. When the time is right, you will learn of the untold story. I swear.'

He pats Merlin's cheek with affection, surveying his protégé close his eyes and nod in compliance, the closing step of their ritual conversations. 'I still have Arthur's chores to attend to…'

'Very well, I must report to Uther. I will see you tonight then.'

He watches Merlin leave the house, contemplating his next course of action to force his pupil out of the young witch's path.

* * *

Morgana is crossing the courtyard, on her way back to her chambers, leaving Gaius' study to pass in front of a crowd of knights and nobles. Out of habit more than awareness, she casts her oblivious arrogance toward the red capes hooded looks of lust and the jealousy filled sighs of their female counterparts, as they part aside yielding right out of her route. She heaves a sigh of relief; nobody seems to know she is the source of the fire, the fulcrum of the incident the night before. She stops by the cloisters, opening the small vial she had been given after her morning visit to the physician and pours its contents in the small fountain adorning the cloisters walls.

_No more drugs, no more binds._ She didn't need soothing any longer, nor peaceful nights of rest - the ignorant souls sole privilege when surrounded by a world they cannot grasp and comprehend - , nor shackles due to convention and propriety.

She was a Witch, a Seer. True, it meant she cradled power in her inner self, indeed, but this was only a small handsel to the endowment brought by this revelation. She was free, at last. Freedom was the unattainable fantasy for humans, enslaved and bound from their first cry of birth to their last sigh in death, wandering through their lives in hopes they taste this elusive gods' ambrosia, never to be theirs. Children were bound to parents, the wife to the husband, peasants to their liege, workers to their masters, nobles to their King, the King to his duty.

But not her, not anymore. She was magic, she could travel those lands she dreamed about, she could become the goddess the promise of her powers bequeath, she could rule, hurt, love at her unbridled will, take without being burdened to give back. The prospects were endless, the horizon was her limit and Morgana felt a surge of rage, joy, hunger and might about to rip her heart in pieces.

This surging wave crashes down against the ghost of Uther's features, flashing in her psyche. The King was the first face she saw when Arthur's snores woke her at dawn, laying on a chair beside the bed. Both royals had been watching after her through the night and the sight of Camelot's two most feared warriors in their unguarded state keeping her safe shed warmth through her soul she hadn't felt in a long while.

However, the warmth had been replaced with fear's aching blade running through her heart as she could only imagine how Uther, and Arthur, will treat her if they ever discovered her true nature. _They would burn you alive, like they did the other ones, the evil ones they said. Your people_. She had witnessed Uther's hate of magic blind him to the matters of justice and fairness, leading to a reign of peaceful terror in the kingdom.

Peaceful as there had been no war since the purge. Terror since the word magic could send innocents to donjons and death without proof, nor trial. She dreaded how the beloved ward would morph into the betraying witch in her guardian's eyes if he ever learnt about her magic. Secrecy is her sole ally for the moment, fostering her while she decides how to mold to her liking the rough edges of the future she has now been handed.

Her thoughts bring her to the spare quarters she had been sent to until her rooms are restored, where she finds Gwen making her bed. Both women stop dead, eyeing each other as if truly seeing one another for the first time. A moment passes and Gwen takes a tentative step towards her mistress. Morgana takes it as an encouraging sign, meeting the maid halfway. Relief washes over her when Gwen engulfs her lean figure in a tight embrace, reveling in the reassuring feel of her calloused fingers stroking her hastily made up hair.

She breaks the hold to lock eyes with her maid's, tears of gratitude stinging her blue orbs. 'You saved my life'

As ever the modest one, Gwen shakes her head lessening the impact of her actions 'No, Prince Arthur did. We would have burnt alive if he hadn't rescued us with his guards.'

'He wouldn't have come if you hadn't rung the alarm bell. He told me he had to order you out so you could rest'

The maid smiled at the memory before the ghost of an unanswered question crossed her features. She lifts her gaze to study her mistress deep blue eyes, although the only thing she sees is amber orbs glistening with fury.

Her searching eyes fortifies Morgana's suspicion her maid had an inkling to her secret, without knowing to what extent. She withdraws from Gwen's intent gaze, treading towards her mattress.

'How was your visit with Gaius, My Lady?'

_Revealing_. 'Like every visit to Gaius ought to be, uncomfortable and insipid. This is a habit I would gladly rid myself off.'

'Did he give you a draught for your sleep? I haven't seen your carrying one'

Morgana frowns at the concealed inquisitive tone in her servant's voice 'No, he didn't. Merlin should bring another one at dusk'

Gwen nods, leaning against the room's window, wringing her hands in her apron. Morgana takes her slippers off, and goes to change behind the curtained partition. She comes back in her nightgown, finding her maid at the same spot, looking out on Camelot. She eases herself to her bed, settling under the covers and stares at the servant still oblivious to her presence. Gwen had not assisted her through all her ministrations. A moment passes by, Gwen still watching Camelot's people go on to their homes or rush to work, trapped in habits and rituals, wondering how the world surrounding her remains unchanged and unscathed, when the life she knows will never be the same.

'My Lady, …'

'Yes Gwen?'

'I…' Gwen closes her eyes and gathers her courage to gaze at her friend, realizing how all the pieces have now come together to shed a revealing light on the enigma the lady has always been, 'I … I know'

A scoff escapes Morgana's lips, nervous laughter filling her chest to prevent the tight knot of fear from choking her throat.

'I will not tell a soul' She stares at Gwen, eyes wide in bewilderment and gratitude. As usual, the maid only offers a shy upturn of her lips, her eyes the sole bearers of her inner turmoil buried under an unassertive mask of sobriety.

'Thank you' she offers her a watery smile while the maid nods in understanding.

'I will leave you to rest; I have chores to tend to.'

'Of course. In all honesty, I need some time by myself as well'.

Gwen curtseys and walks out of her chambers. Morgana stifles a sob, closing her eyes in relief and exhaustion. _This is the first day of the rest of your life_.

* * *

Gwen rushes through the lower ward's dirty streets, weaving her path between the hawkers and the gypsies, the beggars and the journeymen, on her way to the castle. She had to return home, needing her sewing kit to help the royal seamstress with Morgana's gowns. Her head was hurting in throbbing pain from lack of sleep and exhaustion, as she took every chore available to keep busy and shield her mind from any thought. She once believed servants and nobles should be treated as equals, blood was blood after all - was it called blue or common - it stained red and flowed in rivers in both peasants and masters, keeping them alive just as much as the air they shared to breathe.

However, there were times when the court's hardships and tangled web of lies made her relish the sweet blanket of ignorance her kind was wrapped in, keeping them safe from truth, choice and consequence. Her experience as Morgana's maid and her lady's recent troubles made her glad she was no woman of the court and grateful for her station. Still, as she stumbles upon royal guards rounding up arrested people in the courtyard on Uther's orders, she realizes how precarious and unworthy her existence remained, at the mercy of these royals' whims.

She stops, contemplating the moving crowd of soon to be convicted and, if they are unfortunate, executed sons, husbands, mothers and fathers all bearing the face of Tom, paying for their King's intolerance and his ward's secrecy. They are sent to the donjons under the scrutiny of the crowned Prince. He stands arms crossed in the middle of the courtyard, surveying the proceedings, his black outfit clashing with red capes, underlining his royal lure, a deity among humans; the tight line of his lips and his stiff stance betraying his role of unwilling participant in this fear induced madness.

She frowns at the growing headache harassing her since early morning, result of her sleep deprived state, a slew of tiny hammers hitting through her skull. She closes her eyes, massaging her temples, in hope to soothe the pain.

She can see Arthur glance her way, spotting her. She is about to leave when he gestures her to wait for him, treading towards her after leaving instructions to Sir Leon, assisting him nearby. She nervously fidgets with the sewing kit, each approaching stride sending a whiff of dry air in her throat, so much that her voice is hoarse when he joins her.

She swallows a thick gulp and curtsies low as he stops before her, 'Sire'

She straightens too fast, her gestures unusually sharp, wincing at the dizziness and searing pain shooting through her head. She feels Arthur's arms set around her waist, steadying her as she evens her breathing and reclaims her bearings.

'Guinevere. I see you didn't take the rest I ordered you to'

The fleeting black blur clearing her mind, she slithers out of the Prince's hold, smoothing her apron and nodding to let him know she is better. 'I couldn't sleep, My Lord'

'That I can imagine. You went through quite an ordeal'

He tucks curls away from her temple, tracing the scar he ordered Gaius to tend to the night before. She suppresses a shiver, reveling in the electricity brought by a simple graze of his fingers, a testament to her loneliness as her body forgot the feel of a soothing touch, even more that of a male.

'Does it still hurt?'

She shies away from his contact, shaking her head 'No, Sire. Gaius cleaned the wound and put some ointment on it. It doesn't trouble me anymore'

'Good. How is Morgana? I haven't seen her since this morning'

Gwen puckers her lips, wondering if the Prince knew of his past lover's powers. The two royals have grown distant over the past months, despite the affection they still held for one another, unconsciously competing for the King's approval and care. This battle, however, had been long won by Morgana. 'She is resting, My Lord. Gaius gave her a new draught to help her sleep in peace.'

He nods and notices her sewing kit, a grin lightening his features, 'I'm afraid I don't have any shirts that need mending today but I would gladly offer some idle talk.'

She stares at him, at first not quite understanding before chuckling at his allusion 'Oh, it wasn't for you My Lord. No, the royal seamstress is overwhelmed with work on Morgana's gowns and I offered to be her aide'

'Ever the helpful one I see. If only my manservant had the smallest ounce of your dedication, half of my troubles would be sorted. Instead he's a careless idiot, scurrying around like a headless chicken, bringing flowers to gods know who-'

'They were for Morgana'

'What?'

'The flowers … they were for Morgana, My Lord. A little gift to lift her spirits. I think it's a nice and thoughtful gesture.'

Arthur snorts, dismissive of any tenderness between the two dark haired youngsters.

'Yes if the prospect of the two of them wasn't utterly laughable. He's just a servant. Morgana would eat him alive, toy with him like a puppy, only to be discarded when her interest would have waned'

'I take it this is the way you treat the common mistresses you also claim, My Lord. The ones your kinship freely indulges in but are kept hidden or should I say _discarded_ for fear of shame and propriety.' Her icy tone was a clear indication of Arthur's obliviousness and carelessness to life of commoners, his disdain a reminder that his improved behavior was a small drop of humility in an ocean of arrogance as the man will always be in the shadow of the Prince.

She can see anger build through him, his icy sapphire eyes glaring at her. She notices they turned their usual shade of grey when he was inconvenienced or furious. She doesn't avert her gaze, pique and annoyance matching his glare in a jousting contest of their wills. She loses the battle though when pain hammers again through her skull, making her eyes shut as she puts a hand to her forehead. This seems to drain the Prince of his previous anger, his shoulders drop, gaze turning concerned.

He sighs and runs a frustrated hand through his hair, locking eyes with hers, 'Forgive me, I was rude and insensitive. I shouldn't have spoken of Merlin and Morgana so appallingly'

She shrugs; growing tired and weary of taking care of these royals like a nurse would with children, wondering how the numerous hours of learning languages, history, strategy and propriety with the finest minds of the land had them become so oblivious to mere courtesy.

_No matter_, she thought, _this is none of your concern_. There were more urgent matters at hand than a spoilt Prince's brattish habits. Morgana was magic, her head was aching again and the seamstress was waiting for her help. 'You are the Crowned Prince; you may speak as you like, Sire. I am the one at fault. I crossed my boundaries. I apologize, My Lord.'

His reply is interrupted by Sir Leon clearing his throat, startling the both of them - too incensed in their argument to hear him approach, 'Forgive me Sire but the King is waiting for your report on the arrests'

Arthur turns toward Gwen who curtsies and offers a parting 'My Lord' before resuming her walk to the servants' quarters. He watches her leave, until her form is swallowed in the crowd of busy Palace staff. 'Lead the way, Sir Leon'.

* * *

_Higher, go higher. I said HIGHER_. The comb hits the ceiling in a loud thud before its gold metal drops on the floor, breaking in half. Morgana closes her eyes, taming the surge of anger threatening to overwhelm her. Prickles of sweat soak her gown, attesting of the strength consuming nature of her magic. She lifts from her mattress and goes to pick the pieces of the broken instrument, enjoying the feel of cold metal on her skin.

Morgana's quarters had become her new prison for the time being, Uther's orders, locked to foster her from the enemy, when the enemy is within. Laughter bubbles in her chest, escaping in disdainful sneers, as the irony strikes her. _Oh, Uther, if only you knew. Living in fear has turned you into an old pathetic fool_.

Forced to remain in her chambers, she surrendered to curiosity and boredom, when she spotted the comb, lazily lying on her dressing table. She was magic, she might as well learn to use her powers. Her first attempt bordered on the ridiculous. The comb didn't move an inch, staring cheekily at her. The following tries brought the same ending, pique building through her, morphing to annoyance, annoyance leading to anger. She felt her blood boil and sudden warmth wash through her, followed by a blinding wave of white light. An invisible fire had burnt through her limbs, lighting her eyes with amber glow. A fickle of her hand sent the comb flying up in the air, twirling round and round in chaotic patterns. She tried to even her breathing, her mind trying to bridle her power, careful not to let another fire incident start, raising suspicions toward her.

She now approaches the windowsill, laying the remnants of metal on the ledge. She can see a crowd of people surrounded by guards in the courtyard. She frowns as she spots Arthur giving orders and directions before moving toward a servant standing there. The purple cloak gives away the servant's character and she watches Arthur puts a hand on her cheek. The gesture seems innocent but it underlines an ease between the two she had suspected but not thought too highly of, after that adamant denial from Gwen. Her heart clenches, hands drawing into fists, as she surveys the two talk and part ways from her chambers. She is still looking from the window long after the Prince and her servant's silhouettes vanished from her sight, features torn in cold anger, without understanding why.

The sound of crumpled paper tears her from the courtyard, as she turns to her chambers' door. Nothing. Shaking her head, she looks back at the windowsill and suppresses a cry. There, on the ledge, laid a neatly folded white paper, deposed on the broken comb, staring at her with insolence. She looks around her room, and back to the paper, daring her to touch it and open it. Her trembling hand hovers over the white fabric before snatching it in a swift move.

She studies the paper and unfolds it, expecting ink but her peering eyes are met by more white. Confusion raises her eyebrows as she inspects the paper, not understanding. An idea flashes through her mind; she unfolds the paper again and focuses her psyche on the white fabric, urging the warmth to bring her to enlighten. She feels her eyes lit and forces her strength to feed the fire inside. The paper crumples under her hands, turning a darker shade. Gold letters trace their way through the black paper forming the message intended to be read.

_Morgan Le Fay, Daughter of Garlaeth. Honor your lineage. Love your kind. Pursue the path lit through the night. The forest shall be your cicerone, the Druids your warden. Tonight, we await your presence and hope for your allegiance. _

Trembling hands let the paper slid through her fingers. The fabric returns to its original pearly shade, bare of all writing.

* * *

'She received the message, Your Highness'

'Very well. Tell him to go find her. And prepare a special welcome. I have to make sure she is not some wimpy witch.'

'Scorpions?'

'It will do just fine'

'As you wish, My Queen'

* * *

She is ready for her leave, adorned in her dark green cloak, servant's slippers put on to silence her steps. She leaves her chambers before the guard change and passes through the tunnel exit Arthur had used to free Mordred.

Nothing impeded her escape as if someone helped plan her departure. She found the guards surveying her chambers in deep slumber, usually locked gates were open, a trail of white ribbons mapping her way. As she steps out of the underground and stops by the woods, she stumbles upon a horse waiting for her. She mounts the steed and searches for a direction. A piercing light flashes before her, beckoning her. Instinctively, she follows it, weaving her way through branches, crossing moonlit prairies and darkened hills, the flicker of light guiding her like a compass. She eventually stops by a valley with dark tall trees congregating in a circle. The horse stops, unwilling to go further.

She dismounts the stallion, and approaches the white source now at a halt, urging her to come further. She crosses an invisible line and comes to stand at the center of the circle. The light abruptly dies down, leaving her in thick darkness. She can hear strange approaching sounds, crawling and rustling around her, growing close. She tries to train her eyes to the dark, fear building through her, but she can only make out black forms treading closer. Her heart skips in her throat when she guesses those crawling forms are that of giant insects locking her in their ever narrowing circle.

She lets out a scream when a claw stabs her leg in one sharp hit, leaving her falling to the ground. She doesn't have time to register the pain when she avoids another claw, tearing her cloak apart instead of her intended head. She quickly undoes the ties choking her before trying to run to escape but her injured leg decides otherwise. Her vision is blurred by dirt and leaves, frantic hands scratching the ground as she drags herself out of the hundred daggers threatening to stab her to death. She rolls on her back just in time to see another approaching insect launch its claw toward her heart. She shuts her eyes, bracing herself for the inevitable when she hears a loud screech.

Silver strings of smoke escape the burnt remnants of the attacking scorpion lying at her feet. Her outstretched arm is soaked in sweat, her palm stinging from blue sparks crackling in her hand. _You did this_. Her shoulders start sagging from hysterical laughter, as she lets the now familiar wave of power wash through her. She opens sunlit eyes, straightening as best as she could, despite her injured foot, ready for the fight. She casts an open palm toward the crawling black army, regrouped in a circle, tightening their lock around her.

As always the wild one, she's the first to make a move, throwing blue lightning bolts to the first attacking scorpion, turning around to hit another one. With some ground between them, she drags herself to the nearest tree, her back on the trunk to allow her a better view of her opponents. She curses when the moon vanishes again, leaving them under darkness thick cloak. The silence turns deafening; she can't even hear the smallest sound of rustling, only the wild thumps of her heart.

A claw grazes her arm, tearing some flesh with it. Consuming rage makes her turn into the claw and burn another overfed insect. _Three left. You can do it_. The loss of blood blurs her vision just when the whimsical moon sheds a grayish shower on the prairie. She takes a sharp intake of breath and launches another blue fire toward the remaining black beasts, but one escapes, its claw barely missing her temple.

Her strength is draining, shades of dark blue and grey tangling before her, eyelids turned heavy with exhaustion. The last beast sets on fire in front of her although she knows she hadn't done anything. She puts a hand to her arm and sees the blood turn her skin to dark red with glints of silver reflecting the moonlight. Her feet are betraying her, body sliding lower against the tree until she hits the ground. Ocean deep circles and an innocent smile are the last thoughts she takes with her when swallowed by darkness. _Mordred_.

* * *

He's putting on his blasted chainmail when knocks graze his chambers' door. His invitation to enter is followed by Gwen's tentative steps in the room while he prepares for their rescue mission after Morgana's disappearance.

'Guinevere?'

'My Lord', She performs another imposed figure acknowledging his status before meeting his incredulous gaze. 'I would like to apologize for my behavior the day before. I forgot my place. I shouldn't have addressed you as I did. It will not happen again.'

He nods, waiting for the true reason of her venue, 'This is nothing of importance, and you were within your right. Now, I suppose you haven't come to my chambers on the sole purpose of apologizing, Gwen'

She shakes her head, hands wringed in her apron, convincing herself she was right to come before staring at his blue orbs again, but the words wouldn't leave her mouth. Concern knits his brows; he approaches her, his reassuring hand resting on her arm, thumb stroking the fabric of her sleeve.

'Gwen, I cannot offer my help if you don't tell me what has you worried.'

'You must know I wouldn't have come if it wasn't important. I wouldn't disturb the Prince-'

'Would you stop it? You don't disturb me. Never.'

His fingers take her chin to lift her face, making her look at him. She sighs and bites her lower lip before responding 'You need to bring her back, My Lord. She is fragile and still suffering from the fire incident. She may think she's not safe here but she might be in danger out there, all alone'

'I will, I promise. Besides, my dear Father will not have me come back without her. Wherever she had gone to, we will catch her trail and bring her home.'

She nods, but her eyes betray the apprehension she doesn't let out. 'Gwen, you can trust me.'

'I might know where she had gone to, My Lord'

He stiffens, eyeing the maid with resentment if not anger, 'And you didn't see fit to tell me before?'

'I pledged to the Lady Morgana not to divulge anything, and I believe I am betraying her trust now to help you find her, My Lord'

Sensing another argument brewing, waiting for the little spark to let loose, he crosses his arms across his chest, ordering her to continue with a lazy wave of his hand.

'As you might know her dreams had been troubling her the past few weeks, nightmares more vivid and frightening than they used to be. The fire prompted her to seek a remedy to what had been tormenting her and she believed the Druids could help.'

'For Gods sake, Gwen! What were you thinking not telling me!'

'I thought she would come back before the alert. And the Druids are known to be a peaceful tribe in the magical realm. They wouldn't harm her. Despite her being from the King's vicinity-'

One look from him made her swallow her next remark on Uther. He snorts and cuts in an icy, she'd rather think icy than disdainful, tone 'If you had been in the _King's vicinity_, you would know the Druids are merely peaceful in name. They are the link for rogue magic to enter kingdoms and bring destruction to villages. They welcome bandits and criminals offering them a harbor and a shelter just because they can set bloody fires with their bloody minds. Morgana is all but safe there. You may think my Father and I cruel but, believe me, we are not daft as well, far from it.'

She sighs in frustration, head bowed, studying her clasped hands. She sees his large palm engulf them, sword calloused fingers holding hers hardened by wear and tear. She lifts her gaze to meet his 'Thank you for your help. We heard of a druid camp in the woods in the far land, near the Kingdom's borders with Mercia. She might be there. You did the right thing by telling me where she went, Gwen. It is not betrayal when it's for her own good.'

Gwen offers him a small smile and he notices she had never allowed him her genuine, bright, happy version. Only a shy or tight upturn of her lips masquerading the one she gifts her friends and loved ones. He tried not resenting her, knowing the reason of her coldness toward him when she is warm and caring with Merlin and Morgana. They didn't have a hand in her father's death, after all. He had convinced himself he wasn't jealous, he was the Crowned Prince, he could have any woman in the land and hadn't shied away from indulging in this royal privilege.

No, it seemed surprising – and frustrating- him was Gwen's favorite habit when it came to dealing with his Crowned Prince. Unlike other servants, and to be honest noblewomen as well (the first of them, Morgana, but she would never admit it), she always shied away from his scrutiny and attention as if resenting a mere look from him. She was more at ease standing in the shadow although he had learned, at his expense, of the fire and passion burning through her underneath the sweet and demure surface when she had a cause to champion.

He had also noticed how much Tom's death had changed her. Granted, her care for others would never die but her happy go lucky streak had been tamed, the shy, mumbling and too easily trusting Gwen made way to a grown-up and wiser one with a touch of jadedness. Too much heartache had closed her off. He saw it and felt hurt when she constantly turned down his feeble attempts to, if not befriend, at least know her better. Like she just did now.

He responds to her tight smile with a nod, releasing her hands, 'The search party is waiting for my command. I should go.'

'What about Merlin?'

He rolls his eyes, heading back to his table, his scabbard awaiting. Merlin had vanished, again, soon after the word of Morgana's disappearing act spread through the Kingdom. 'What about my beloved servant?'

Gwen stepped closer, taking the gloves from the table and handing them to him, 'You don't believe he went after Morgana?'. He buckles his scabbard and takes the gloves, 'I never said such a thing. The fool thinks playing hero and groveling at her feet would allow him her favors. Of course he went to save her. I don't know how he thinks he can but nothing surprises me anymore from this idiot'

She still waits, stubbornly, expectant brown eyes never leaving his sapphire ones. It's his turn to avert his gaze, grumbling in defeat, 'I guess it will be my duty to bring him home as well.'

This time, she does it for him. The wide beam that lightens all the room, she offers it to him and him only. He doesn't understand why it warms his belly, making him grin like his daffy manservant would and to be honest, he doesn't care. A present from the gods, a delicate touch smoothing the rough and hardened edges of his existence, she might be a servant, but her smile held the power of a thousand suns, a magic he wouldn't seek to be freed of. It wasn't the cold inviting artifice of the noble ladies, bridled and performed to hide their ulterior motive, nor the calculating and assessing smirk of Morgana, not even the sometimes daft but mostly naïve beam of the courtiers and servants. Hers cradled motherly warmth, an accepting and open invitation to mirth, allowed a freedom he could never find in his duties and status.

A raised gloved hand cuts her off when she is about to speak, 'No need to thank me. I would only request for the same radiant smile to welcome us upon our return'. As he suspected, her light fades as quickly as it had lit up her features, a polite tight upturn of her lips replacing her previous unshackled grin, prompting him to add, relying on sarcasm to hide the opening he granted her, 'But do not worry. I will not hold you up to this. Regard it as a wish, free of any duty and obligation'.

Gwen nods and dips forward in a parting curtsey, punctuated by the ritual, turned grating, 'My Lord' as she leaves his quarters, back to her territory and duties. The interlude was over, the lines were drawn out again, though he thinks she always focused on never truly crossing them with him, just go as far as she could and allowed herself to.

Arthur had never been one to rebuke tradition just for the sheer interest in contradiction like Morgana indulged in. However, the petite maid had an uncanny ability to make him reassess what he had always taken for granted. As hard as she tried telling herself, or him for that matter, otherwise, they were on a new territory and he looked forward with genuine fondness to the new turfs their blooming relationship – yes, he will call it a relationship, to hell what his reason tells him – will take them to.

He massages his forehead, pinching the bridge of his nose. 'Stop the nonsense, Arthur. You have the harpy to save.'

* * *

The castle gates loom before them. The return home had been silent, expect for the knights whispered stories, the two royals and Merlin had not uttered a word.

For the first time in her life, Morgana was at a loss. A complete and utter loss. Aglain died, Mordred was the gods know where, Arthur raided a village of defenseless druids, leading to a massacre and all she could think of was how Merlin had found her. She noticed the looks of recognition between Mordred and Aglain toward the manservant. Emrys they called him. It was too easy of a coincidence to have him there, knowing of the Druids camp whereabouts when they had been hiding unbeknownst to the King's patrols.

_Don't forget his flowers, Morgana_. The only other occurrence bringing them together was when they saved Mordred, and she had already suspected then a kinship between her blue eyed protégé and Arthur's manservant. She was sure he had been sent as reckon for Arthur's men. The attack was launched not long after his arrival. Growing up with warlords such as Arthur and Uther had offered her some inkling to strategy, and Merlin's role was typical of bait or a decoy.

She glances at the manservant who offers her a shy smile in return, fading though under her persistent scrutiny. She directs her stare toward Arthur's back, the Prince leading the rescue mission home. _Home_. She scoffed inwardly. Camelot was her new shining cage, guarded by her two bloodthirsty royals of a family. She had had faith in Arthur but he killed a piece of it when he lashed onto that village.

Oh, she wasn't naïve; the Druids were not the peaceful tribe they strived to be recognized for. They helped criminals and bandits run away on the sole account of their persecution for bearing magic, providing with ensorcelled weapons as long as it meant undermining Uther's reign. They even were said to smuggle little witches snatched from villages to another magical realm, though proof of this had never arisen. The Prince was a warrior and Uther's pawn, of course he would have attacked the village, as defenseless as it seemed.

No, she resented her dear brother because he had just destroyed her only mean to know of her true self and her genuine family. _Daughter of Garlaeth_. The mention had been torturing her mind since receiving the Druids message as it was common and widespread knowledge she was of Gorlois blood. However, Aglain had started a retelling of the whole story, the one Uther strived to bury more than 20 years ago. She'd never thought her existence, and - in fate's cruel twist of irony - Arthur's as well, was entwined with that of the purge as Aglain had told her. She was indeed of Gorlois blood but indirectly as she was the true daughter of his younger brother, Garlaeth.

Her mother, Mathilde, died giving birth leaving her father consumed in sorrow. Fearing for her safety, Gorlois had taken her into his care as his own daughter with his wife, although they already had a child, another girl. According to Aglain that is when fate's stroke of genius weaved its tricky path onto their lives. Gorlois wife was called Eygyr. Nothing mysterious at first thought, only for Aglain's expectant gaze urging Morgana to link the pieces together. To his credit, she had heard of the name before but it seemed like a fleeting blur, escaping the fingers of her memory at each attempt of being caught. Her mind had been reeling, as she tried to make sense of the revelation when Arthur's men attacked the village, history repeating itself as they left, burying the inconvenient truth under ashes and blood.

The buzzing of the crowd tears her off her thoughts when they enter the courtyard. She can see Uther descending the stairs to welcome her, Gwen in his tow. She never trusted him, and Aglain's expose had only fostered her long bore suspicions. But the sight of him relieved and engulfing her in his bearish embrace, caressing her features like the daughter he thought he had lost, puts the resentment, hate and questions on hold. She will seek the truth; learn of the devious and shameful stories, she was Morgana after all, but not today. Today, she will pretend to be the loving daughter, she will revel in his warmth and affection, might it be an illusion.

* * *

It's been awhile she hadn't felt so light. Hope had taken its leave from her life with Tom's death. It had paid some fleeting visits of course, mostly when Arthur showed the King he could be but she never allowed it to stay long in her heart. Her poor soul had suffered too much hurt it could bear, rendering her more assertive and mindful in her decisions and the bestowing of her trust. A certain Prince of Camelot would know a thing or two about this matter.

Morgana's ordeal had been her own. She couldn't bear the loss of anyone dear to her heart again, she let loneliness win some battles but she would be damned if she let it win the war. So it was with no regret she accepted Morgana's magic, as hard as it had been, confessing to herself she knew all along but used wishful thinking to belie her inkling. She still remembers the fluttering of her heart and the wave of relief stinging her eyes when she saw her lean figure enter the courtyard. It took all her might and composure not to run down those steps and cradle her in the safety of her arms. She had cursed the gods, berated the spirits for punishing her for forsaking Hope again and pledged she would never turn up her nose or show arrogance to it so long as they bring her back.

Morgana was home and now she had a promise to fulfill.

It is with renewed faith in better days that she crosses the streets of the higher town, down to the lower ward, biding goodnight to her neighbors, urging the remaining children to their homes as their mothers call them for supper and letting this poor but content common life wrap her in its carelessness and strength. Her brightened mood however turns sour when she spots two figures standing on her doorstep. She sighs in relief when she guesses those are two female figures and treads toward them.

'Good Evening. May I help you?'

The two women are draped in rich cloth, though she doesn't recall ever seeing such fine fabric in the Seamstress quarters. They smell of faraway lands and distant oceans. They both stare at her with incredulous gaze, watching her fidget under their dissecting eyes. One of them, the youngest it seems, turns toward her companion 'The resemblance is uncanny. If I didn't know the truth, I would believe my eyes were betraying me'

The older woman doesn't flinch in her gaze toward Gwen, offering only a whispered 'I know'.

Gwen takes umbrage of the mystery surrounding her two visitors and sends another 'May I help you?' as a lost bottle in the sea.

The older woman steps closer, taking the hood of her cloak off of her face, revealing an unearthly blinding beauty.

'Are you Guinevere Leodegrance?'

Stupor widens Gwen's orbs, her mouth turning into an 'oh' as only a handful of people know about her last name and most of them are dead. 'Yes'.

The woman smiles, 'I am Ethel and I have a message for you.'


	3. Chapter 3

**OK Guys, I am uber sorry for the long wait but life's been a bitch and work decided not to let me go on with this story. Thanks to everyone who has taken time to review or alert the story. The tiniest review is appreciated, helps keep me motivated to pursue writing this fic. I made a longer chapter to atone for the month (damn!) of waiting. Hope you enjoy ! :)**

* * *

Brown. A tinge of yellow. Translucent and frail. Tiny little specks falling against one another. blue against caramel. He studies the hourglass, head perched on his folded arms, lazily lying on the common's room table, a breath away from the see-through clock. He watches the sand pour, unrelenting, unassuming, through the lucent crystal.

She must suspect him.

Those searching eyes when they entered Camelot, ocean deep blue turned dark as midnight. Her cold scrutiny as sole reply to his inviting smile.

He blinks, avoiding the burning imprint of the sun stabbing his blue orbs. Today must have been a month since Arthur rescued them from the Druid camp. It didn't deter his thoughts from chasing him wherever he went, a constant shadowy cloud over his head, seeing her features in every face he encounters. He surrendered his mind to the gnawing of his poisonous fears, little devils spreading their icy venom through every vein and fiber of his being, leaving him the only cold and drab figure in Spring's eruption of colors that paints Camelot with its gamut of warm, ardent tinctures, breathing life into the Kingdom.

A hand massages his eyes; he straightens and stretches his lanky frame, blinking frantically to dismiss the remaining ribbons of fluorescent colors writhing before him. He had tried to seek answers, mostly through Gwen but she too had seemed unusually preoccupied the last few weeks. She had been spending more time at home, hurrying in her chores so she could leave the Palace before dusk had settled its coppery veil on the city, barely catching time for idle talk and mindless chatter with him, or other servants for that matter.

He wasn't the only one puzzled by her new behavior although he would have expected Morgana instead of the Prince of Camelot himself to notice the loss of the maid's presence.

'Are my eyes deceiving me or has Gwen somewhat vanished from the Palace?', he had asked that day, in between rounds of throwing orders and spewing insults at him, preparing for another of his morning torture trainings with his knights.

He had registered a nib born out of novelty in the Prince's tone he could not define, a loss in his arrogance replaced by a touch of softness, concern perhaps. He couldn't tell so he only replied 'Yes, she told me she had distant family who came for a visit.'

'For a month? That is awfully long for a courtesy visit, don't you think?'

Arthur's reply made him even more puzzled, a snort escaping his lips 'Have you been counting the days?'

He helped him put on his chainmail, handing him his scabbard, Arthur seemingly not concerned by his teasing smirk, 'Don't be daft. I was merely asking of my adopted sister's maid and confidante. Morgana is still a weakling and I am concerned how Gwen is assisting her through her recovery.'

It appeared the King's ward didn't find the lessened company of her maid source for trouble, indulging with growing constancy in what she called 'studying hours', although they were held behind the locked doors of her quarters with no one but her in the chambers.

It is a testament to how little time they shared together, all four of them, since Morgana's ordeal, trapped in duties and life's hardships and challenges littering the treacherous path to adulthood. It made their Ealdor adventure, more than a year ago, all the more precious to him, as it had slowly borrowed the costume of a fugacious chimera, a trick of his mind swallowed in the recess of his memory.

The creek of Gaius door startles him when the physician enters his home, books as ancient as his wrinkles under his arms.

'Good afternoon, Merlin. Have you been hiding here all morning? I haven't seen you in the Palace.'

He releases the books on the table, beside the manservant before heading to his potions.

'Arthur's been in a foul mood, those past two weeks, so I came here to regain some strength and peace of mind before facing his royal brute again'

He can see Gaius nod, despite his back turned to him, 'Well then you can take as long as you need. Arthur is in a council with Uther, they received new reports on Odin's kingdom.'

Gaius rummages through his shelves, searching for the draught he came to pick. Merlin studies the old man, gathering courage to venture into the murky waters of their relationship, 'You didn't ask what happened when I went after Morgana, a few weeks ago. Why?'

Gaius shrugs, still searching for his potion, 'I guessed you would confide in me when the time felt right. There is no need to force you into anything. Now, where in Uther's kingdom is that potion?'

'I was right. Morgana is magic'

Gaius nods in acceptance, still rummaging through his drawers, 'My counsel still holds, Merlin. I would rather you remained far away from her. But I guess that is your choice.'

'She is not Gorlois daughter'. This time, Gaius stills at his young apprentice words, in mid search. _At last_. He closes the drawer he had been exploring, his back still turned, 'Does she know?'.

Merlin shivers at his tone, bereft of its familiar warmth and wisdom frozen in the coldness of his voice. He has never felt fear around the physician before; respect, wariness yes but not fear; until this moment. Little by little, he was collecting the shreds the old man had forsook to piece together and weave into the portrait he kept in the dark, the part of himself he concealed from open scrutiny revealing to be a far cry from the front he performed among society.

'Yes, I heard the ruler of the Druid camp, Aglain, tell her of her true lineage'

Gaius curses under his breath, turning to face the warlock, features trained into an inscrutable mask, arms crossed and leaning against the table he had been rummaging earlier, 'What else did he tell her?'

'Why is it so important?'

'Merlin, answer the question', the words were poised, voice calm, face sober. He felt an urge though to obey, his instinct whispering to go against his habit of rash thinking and not stray from his self imposed task of puzzling out the riddle standing before him.

'He revealed she was the daughter of Gorlois brother, Garlaeth. Her mother died like Arthur's, after giving birth and Gorlois took Morgana under his care. He also said that Gorlois wife was called Eygyd or Eyzyr. I can't remember well, this is when Arthur's men attacked the village and-'

'Her name was Eygyr…'

'You knew her then …'

The impassive mask begins to crack, the physician's shoulders dropping under the weight of lies and deceit. He heaves a sigh and sits across Merlin. 'Yes, I knew her. A beautiful woman, a generous and kind soul who should have never been sacrificed to her tragic fate.'

'I don't understand…'

'Did Aglain say anything more?'

'Unless my mind is betraying me, no, not that I remember'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes, that is all he said, I swear'

The physician sighs in what Merlin thinks is relief, pondering the young warlock's report, his confusion reinforced as he mutters, 'That is odd. Why would he keep her existence unknown to Morgana?'

'Whose existence? Gaius, I told you all that occurred that day. It is your turn to tell me what you know as well'

'I am sorry Merlin, but some truths are better kept hidden. It doesn't concern you and it is unfit for you to know of ancient noble families' secrets. Thank you though for telling me everything. I wish I could repay the trust you placed in me.'

'So do I'

Gaius offers only a small smile, patting Merlin on the back before claiming his books and staff, 'I must go see Uther. I suppose there is no need to advise to keep this to yourself.'

Merlin shakes his head, eyes still studying the old physician, watching him leave. The door closes; the ray of warm amber that briefly lit his features dies down, dismissed by the cold shadow of the house.

He was right. Gorlois legitimate daughter must have been important for Gaius to ask about her, under the guise of surprise, so much that it warranted an impromptu visit to King Uther.

He reclaims his place, head resting on his folded arms, as he resumes his thorough study of the hourglass, wishing he could become those specks, falling, unassuming, unrelenting.

* * *

'This is not good. This is bad. This is really bad.'

'Thank you for your sharp mind and perceptiveness, Arthur. It is much welcomed in this time of crisis.' Uther snaps at, what he sees is, his son's lack of subtlety, an attribute he could be well advised to learn from his adopted sister.

Many times he wished Arthur had Morgana's bright spirit and ability to look past the teasing front of the obvious and weave his way through the intricate lines of a riddle, a charade, an enigma or at the very least a question. From an early age, he had used to subject his ward's mind to intellectual exertions, teaching her never to take anything at face value, to decipher lies in friendly faces, when his son was too busy impersonating his knights and chasing after the weaker sex. He recalled his ward's sparkling blue eyes, glistening with pride and defiance, each time she solved a puzzle he submitted, punctuating every deduction with her cherished formula 'Clever took me this far, then tricky let me in'.

Foresight. That was one of the numerous purposes of a ruler. A King bore the face of Justice, among the collection of masks at his disposal for each entity he had to play embodiment to, and his years at the height of Camelot's pecking order had taught him Justice was a playful mistress, coy and deceptively shy. It enjoyed holding truth under false pretenses and the deforming mirror of the Obvious. It also had taught him a precious lesson that had kept him alive until this very moment: trust is merely an illusion, a wish made into reality but with no true tangibility, a lie. Morgana understood that. Arthur didn't.

Granted, his son had turned into a fine strategist, with all the attributes of a good ruler but his hardened demeanor and arrogant behavior were only borrowed from his duties and the royal court's diktat, teaching him to suppress his very nature in order to accommodate the demands of his status. Arthur was too much like _her_, a kind and damaged soul, more poised to forsake the reins of his ruling to his heart rather than his reason, a mind where ideals, values and principles abound, deeply rooted in a moral code Uther has learned to use for his interests, not to follow as guidance.

And the Gods know the situation they find themselves in at this moment requires more than a handful of good wishes and opening of hearts. Odin's kingdom had welcomed its new King, Obadiah. It turned out Odin had no true descendants to claim the throne and by a subtle round of politics, that only the blue blood know of it secret and tricky ways, Lord Obadiah had been offered the kingdom of Asgard.

The unsettling matter is that Lord Obadiah has been known to have sworn allegiance to a Queen of the Old Religion, a Witch who has been extending her sphere of influence into an ever spreading dominion of human moieties ruled by corrupted nobles, becoming her vassals in exchange of lust, prosperity and the promise of immortality.

Unfortunately for them, their immortality came with the price of disability. Indeed, the Queen always forgot to add in her dealings that they would live forever, yes, but will not be spared the sufferings of ageing. The kings would become immortal only after they attained a certain age, preferably ancient, their physical state rendering them into rotten statues. That is when the never dying process starts, trapping them into these ancient, beaten and bruised vessels and relegated in a spare room, as a disposable piece of furniture, when the Queen's self appointed advisors would rule the kingdom in place of these human Kings. The gift revealing its curse.

'And now our last bulwark against these corrupted kingdoms has fallen'

Arthur nods, his features as grim and tight as his Father's, 'Indeed. Although nothing tells us Odin hadn't already sold his Kingdom to the Witch. May I remind you he was an enemy to Camelot, Father, especially after I killed his son?'

'No, Odin might have hated us but he hated magic more. The rare matter upon which we ever agreed'

'Why this hate of magic?' If only for one occurrence when he was still a child, Arthur had never dared to question his Father's deeply rooted revulsion to anything bewitched, it was a matter never to be spoken of under punishment of imprisonment or lashing – some scars on his back could testify for that occurrence when Uther rewarded his unaware impudence. Now, he hoped King Odin's reasons could offer some inkling to those of his dear ruler.

'He suffered the evil and deceit of magic. He was bewitched by one of his court's servants who turned out to be a Witch. He fell in love with her and decided to marry her when she claimed to bear his child. Filthy whore! I told him to get rid of her. This was common practice for nobility, use and discard. But the fool was too enchanted to let the girl go.' Uther hisses, the mere thought of the servant becoming nobility only bringing him repugnance. 'She gave birth to a son, the one you killed. At their marriage, the First Queen Witch came and it was revealed she used the servant to make Odin yield to her new politics and vision, meld the Realm of Magic to the World of Humans. Odin perceived her deceit, as her only purpose was to enslave us humans, and refused. The First Queen Witch left and cursed his land and lineage so the only descendant he would have would be that of the servant.'

'What happened then?'

'Odin became consumed with rage and banished the whore, who left with her mistress but he kept the son-'

'He tore the child from his mother's hands?'

'She was a filthy, bewitched servant, Arthur! If the bastard was his only chance at an heir, it was the right thing to do'

It wasn't the words that made Arthur's heart clench and his insides churn but the disdainful, dismissive tone Uther used, as if this was the most natural gesture in the world, consequences and feelings be damned. He hadn't had time to know of Odin's son but this new reveal only added another layer of bitterness around his heart as he felt a kinship with the deceased Prince that he could never have with his noble followers. He knew how it felt to live without a mother, to see in his Father's eyes that he was deemed responsible for her loss and the need to earn and justify for every breath taken, every smile bestowed, every move made, his existence bound to her unwilling sacrifice.

Arthur heaves a sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose, 'Why First Queen Witch?'

'What?', it seems Uther as well had been lulled into the embrace of daydream, brought back to reality by his son's inquiry

'You said First Queen Witch when retelling Odin's story. It was before the purge, twenty years have passed. I guess we are not facing the same Queen Witch today'

'No we are not. It is the First Queen Witch who decided to affix our realm to hers. There are three realms known in our universe, the Dark, the Light and Earth which is that of humans. The Dark and the Light are both magical realms but with different degrees of power. The Light could be regarded as the noble realm while the Dark welcomes common magicians and creatures. That is where you find trolls, dragons, orks, dwarves and a slew of magical horrid beasts, outcasts or criminals banished from the Light. The Dark has the advantage of not being a common entity, there are rivalries and mistrust between the Kingdoms that led to the Light enslaving some of these dominions, mainly the trolls and the dragons.'

'I suppose the kingdoms not enslaved are either revolting or playing both sides to gain riches or peace'

Uther glances at Arthur, surprised at his son's prescience when he had been berating him earlier for his lack thereof. 'Precisely Arthur. I'm impressed'

'Just following your rules and guidelines Father, that is all'

The King waves off his son's sarcastic tone, 'Well, as you just thought, the dwarves are a greedy people, they are the main link between the two realms, mostly through trade. The dragons are the Light's special army while the trolls change allegiances as often as a new day arises. There are also rogue magicians fallen from the Light or who deserted its army during the purge. They are led by a Dragon Lord called Balinor.'

'So if I understand well, the only means to render the Light fragile is to deprive them of the dwarves trade and the dragons forces-'

'Yes and that's what we nearly succeeded in doing through the purge. We forged an alliance with the Dragon Lords and exterminated the Dragon race.-'

'Then why is Balinor in the Dark's realm playing reluctant hero when he was the instrument of the magical world's defeat?'

_Too much foresight on this one_. 'He betrayed us.'

'How?'

'He betrayed us and that is all you need to know. I certainly hope you will not put your Father's words in doubt to care for a Dragon Lord who betrayed his word and his kind for greed.'

'Alright, what happened to the other Dragon Lords then?'

'This is not of your concern.'

Arthur's hands clench into fists, his heart protesting against his silence. The two royals glare at each other before Arthur nods in defeat 'This doesn't explain the new Queen Witch.'

'The purge had destroyed most of the magical beings and areas settled on Earth by the First Queen Witch to ease the attachment of our realm to theirs. Earth was important because it stands in the middle of the Light, whose kingdoms are up in the sky, beyond the veil of blue over our heads, and the Dark, with territories settled under the Earth, where no sun ever sets. It is with much pride that I recall how the purge had cut the links between the two Realms. Unfortunately, it also led to the Light changing tactics and politics under the rise of a new Queen.'

'How is that possible?'

'The Light used to be a congregation of Kingdoms whose Queens appointed their next ruler to become First Queen. The arrival of a new power thirsty one changed the landscape as she build an empire in which she would be High Queen with the other Kingdoms as her vassals. She created a new order in the kingdoms rooted in a straight line of hierarchy leading to hers at the top. Then she set ensorcelled gates between our realm and the other magical ones, in order to regain the control of the Dark. Finally,-'

'We had reports of strange deaths of kings not favorable to magic in Albion and beyond our shores. Leading to a new alliance between men and magic. She picked up where the former First Queen had left off.'

'Indeed. Please try to remember it is still rude to cut in when one's talking. I see you have no qualms interrupting your Father and your King, at that.' Uther snaps, visibly annoyed, as he leaves his spot beside one of the windows in the King's Hall, watching over his kingdom, and goes to join his son, leafing through the maps of Albion and Camelot, scattered all over the common room's table.

As Uther treads closer to him, Arthur lifts his gaze, a questioning look blossoming in his blue orbs 'You said you defeated the Light's army and destroyed all the gates between magical realms.'

'Indeed. It was an emphatic victory.'

'How did you do it?'

Uther's proud smirk ripens into a thin line, his eyebrow risen, 'What do you mean?'

'We are only men, Father. How do skilled warriors defeat wizards, witches, beasts and dragons with only swords and arrows?'

'We had allies'

'Yes, Dragon Lords to defeat the Dragons, but I can't believe they were enough. You must have had a weapon to help wipe them out.'

Uther shuts his eyes, jaw set. Indeed, his son was way too much like _her_. He is saved by the entrance of one of the guards watching the common hall. 'Sire, My Lord. The physician Gaius asks for an audience. He said it is an urgent matter.'

'Yes, bring him in'

An incredulous Arthur turns to his Father, 'I thought we were in an important meeting-'

'This can wait. I need some time to think of our strategy. Gather the maps and study them. Come back when you have set steps to counter the Queen's approach.'

'Yes, Father'. Arthur gathers the maps and sets to leave. On his way he stops abruptly, turning to Uther, as Gaius enters the room. 'Father, what was the servant's name? The one Odin fell in love with.'

Uther screws his face in confusion, searching for the name of the witch, 'Why would you ask?'

Arthur shrugs, 'Simple curiosity.'

'I believe her name was Aife.'

The Prince nods, 'Thank you Father'. He resumes his walk passing by the old physician. Gaius' look of fright doesn't escape him.

* * *

Trembling hands fold the smooth linen under her calloused fingers. These last few weeks had been difficult to endure. Ethel and Andraste's visit had shattered the meager beckon of hope and light she cradled in a concealed place of her heart.

Gwen picks another of Morgana's dresses, neatly folding it and puts it in her basket, hoping her chores could make her thoughts not drift back to that night but, alas, she can't fight the slew of memories crowding her mind.

'_By Oya, you look so much like her.' Ethel gazes at Gwen, studying her features, every line, each unruly curl framing her face, her eyes so deep and warm, the skin as brown and bright as honey; it all reminded her of her dead sister. Gwen had let them in her small house and had welcomed them with warmth and care, politeness preventing the young girl from asking the questions that gathered on the tip of her tongue, waiting to be released._

'_I am sorry but how do you know who I am, My Lady?', Gwen was fidgeting under Andraste scrutiny, the goddess staring at her while casually drinking the tea their host had offered. The three women were sitting at the table in her confined home._

'_Yes, I suppose this must seem quite surreal and odd to you. I don't know how to start so perhaps I will just go straight to the important facts', she exchanges a glance with Andraste. The younger goddess didn't seem that much bothered, nor eager to attend the little reunion. Ethel rolls her eyes as her companion starts humming, focused on her cup of tea. She turns to Gwen, 'Guinevere, dear, do you believe in magic?'_

_The question startles the young maid, 'Hum, well yes I do. I witnessed some magic here in Camelot. I was even accused of witchcraft… On false accounts of course, because I am not. A witch that is.'_

_Andraste snickers at Gwen's answer, while Ethel only offers a knowing smile._

'_Do you know of the magical realms outside Camelot?'_

'_Please Ethel, can't you see? She's only a servant here, how would she know anything other than her chores and how to bend to these human royals? I'll go out on a limb and suppose she can't even read'_

_Ethel glares at Andraste but her reply is cut short by Gwen, 'My Lady is right. Us commoners have not been privileged enough to learn how to read and be blessed with knowledge. But we have other forms of wisdom and spirit. And I do know about the two magical realms outside of Camelot, the Light and the Dark, I gather the peasants are their victims of choice when some of them creatures venture into our lands.'_

_A tight silence settles between the three women, only broken by the life bustling outside her walls._

'_Pay no heed to Andraste, she has very firm views on everyone, even those she does not know.'_

_Gwen waves Ethel's apology off with a smile. Ethel gazes at her for a moment before cutting to the chase, 'listen, I am not very good with words, even less with tiptoeing around a subject so here. I knew your mother.'_

_Gwen's eyes widen, shock overwhelming her every thought, rendering her speechless, broken down and paralyzed._

'_She was magic, one of the greatest witches I have ever known. She lived with Andraste and me in a magical realm called Oya. As tradition demanded, it was our custom to come to Earth every summer solstice to bring growth and prosperity to the land by offering our blessing and our prayers. _

_We used to come through hidden gates scattered all around your realm in the forms of mirrors, water, and any other reflecting veil. About a year before the purge, we descended to Camelot for another celebration of the return of our brother Sun, Sukreth and I were appointed to Albion and its bordering shores. Sukreth, your mother, was a wild spirit, untamed and adventurous. Too much for her own good. Our mission accomplished and prayers sent, we wandered through the lands and stumbled on a feast in the prairie. Sukreth convinced me to join the feast and we meddled with the villagers until dusk set the sky ablaze in its amber glow. _

_It was our sign to return home, as night should not find us on Earth. I called out for your mother and left the human realm as she told me she would follow suit. She came back only the day after. That is when she committed her fault.'_

'_What did she do?' Gwen lets out the words in a hoarse voice; throat tightened by anticipation, apprehension and fear._

'_She had met a man during that feast and … how to say this-'_

'_And she whored herself with him-'_

'_For gods sake Andraste, if you do not shut your gob I will make you regret he day you were ever born!'_

'_Oh you can try. Please, try. I am sure Brunhild will be happy to know we are here, in Camelot with Sukreth's bastard! Because that's what she is, niece or not. She is the result of your sister dallying with those insects of humans. She betrayed us, Oya and everything that we stand for! And for what? Love? Please. What a jest. And now, WE have to come back crawling to this girl and grovel for her help?! Filthy Sith!'_

'_Do not forget-'_

'_Yes, I know. She is your niece and we cannot say anything or we will suffer the same fate as your sister. How could I forget? I am shaking in fear.' Andraste spat, rolling her eyes at Ethel's threat. She abruptly stands and heads to the door._

'_And where do you think you are going?' Ethel asks in anger_

'_Outside. Clear my head. I wouldn't want to put a damp on your little family reunion. Don't forget to tell her the real reason we're here.' She slams the door, leaving a dusty trail of wood in her wake._

_Ethel turns to Gwen and sighs at the tears glistening in her eyes as the young girl tries her utmost not to let them fall. Before the goddess reaches out her hand to console her, Gwen suddenly stands taking the mugs left on the table, 'Would you like some more tea, My Lady?'_

'_Please call me Ethel. And yes, tea is good. Tea is great.'_

_Gwen nods and goes to make two more cups, the little ritual bringing a soothing she needed to regain some composure. She was glad Ethel let her calm herself without any question or talk. 'If you don't mind me asking, what is a Sith?', Gwen places the two hot mugs on the table, as she settles across an ill at ease Ethel._

'_In the magical realm, we call Sith, the people who are half blood. Half magic and half human.'_

'_Like me'_

'_Yes, like you. You have the ability to sense or recognize magical beings without having actual powers.'_

_Gwen smiles, but it is a weary, sad upturn of her lips. The one she's learned to perform since Tom's death whenever she received the requisite pitying looks or false condolences. 'I guess once a servant, always a servant.'_

'_Guinevere, no-'_

_Gwen shakes her head and cuts short Ethel's attempt at consoling her 'What happened when your people learned of my mother's… fault, as you call it?'_

_Ethel sighs and takes a sip of her tea. 'They were furious as you could imagine. Although things truly became worse when they learned of Sukreth bearing a child. You. The elders decided the pregnancy could not last all the way and tried to stop it.'_

'_Oh my Gods!'_

'_Yes, our realm's dogma is very firm on this. I helped Sukreth escape our world to descend back to Camelot. That is where we found your Father who welcomed us into his forge. I can still remember the poor soul's befuddled features when he opened his door to a pregnant Sukreth and me.'_

'_How did he take the news?'_

'_You humans are peculiar. I thought he would die of fright but he surprised us both by his joy at learning he would become a father. He truly loved your mother, you know.'_

_Gwen nods and this time she accepts Ethel's hand on her own, thanking her in a watery smile._

'_I stayed with your mother until she gave birth. But she knew our world would never accept you so she left you with your Father, I can't recall his name-…'_

'_Tom'_

'_Yes, Tom. She promised she would come back every Summer Solstice to offer her blessings to her daughter.'_

'_But she never came…'_

_Ethel shakes her head, weariness and lost memories lying heavy on her shoulders, 'No. We came back and the purge started. All the gates to Earth had been destroyed and the magical realm lost a gruesome war. As always, in dark times, people search for someone to blame and what a better target than your mother? She was arrested and … indeed, it didn't end well.'_

'_What happened? Ethel, please, tell me.'_

'_I couldn't do anything, Guinevere, I am so sorry. They imprisoned me as well and I couldn't help her. The elders sought to make an example out of her for the younger witches in training and… I'm sorry I couldn't.' Ethel trained her eyes on her mug, hands clasped on the small cup._

'_Is she still alive?', Gwen tried not to dare hope but she couldn't not hold tight to the thin thread of light that flicked in her soul and warmed her heart._

_Ethel locks gaze with Gwen. 'I'm sorry'_

_Gwen averts her eyes, clenching her heart so she can even her breathing. 'Did you know my Father died?'_

'_Yes, I learned –'_

'_And you couldn't come… I was all alone, Ethel. Alone …' she tries all her might to stifle her sob but she surrenders to the rivers of tears she could not hold back anymore, each salty drop rolling on her cheek, leaving their golden imprint._

'_I know'_

_Gwen wipes her tears and treads to her door, 'Forgive me, but you can't stay. I… I don't believe you. What tells me you are not lying to me?'_

_Ethel nods and stands as well, 'I figured you would ask me that question'. With a flick of her hand her bag opens and a broken piece of dark wood floats in the air, flying toward them until it settles on Ethel's palm. She hands the piece to a stunned Gwen, 'Do you remember this?' _

_A shaking hand takes the piece of wood. Gwen goes to her bed, kneels down and takes from under the mattress a small wooden box. She rummages through it to find another fragment of dark wood._

_She brings both morsels and sets them on the table. They are twin halves of the same piece. She clicks them together and nearly jumps in surprise as the piece of wood is wrapped by a golden light lifting it up in the air._

_The two women watch as the piece morphs into a larger box of gold, opening wide to reveal a letter and a fragment of painted fabric. The box seems to beckon Gwen to come and take the little treasure it cradled. Gwen takes tentative steps toward the gold box still floating and collects both painting and letter._

_She gasps when she sees the painting. It showed his father and what seemed like her mother. They were smiling, the woman glowing with her mocha skin and thick curls, eyes sparkling with laughter. She smiles with genuine mirth while studying the portrait, fragile laughter bubbling through her when she recognizes the bump appearing in place of her mother's stomach. She folds the painting and opens the letter. _

_Ethel flicks her fingers in a circle and the golden box reverts to its original state of wooden chunk that travels to the table and settles on the piece of furniture. _

_Gwen turns to her, handing the letter to the goddess, 'I'm sorry but I cannot read' she says, a watery smile appearing as a polite apology for her lack of sophistication. Ethel takes the letter and is about to read when she steps before Gwen and pulls the young woman into the comfort of her arms. 'I think you know what the letter says. Let it go, Guinevere. You can cry. You are safe here; there is no one to judge you'._

_The witch waits, caressing her niece's curls under her light brown fingers, Gwen's features hidden under the fabric of her dress, cradled into her aunt's chest. She can hear the young maid's breathing, growing faster and heavier until a whimper breaks the silence, not long followed by muffled cries. _

_Ethel supports Gwen's sagging figure possessed by months of heartache, denial and anger finally let loose. Both women kneel on the wooden floor, Ethel cradling a sobbing Gwen in her arms, waiting for her niece shaking form to appease, the young woman abjuring her demons as her teary exorcism puts them to rest at last. _

_The goddess can hear Andraste enter as she tucks a now exhausted Gwen in her bed. The maid drifts onto the foggy mist of slumber, but not without hearing Andraste snide tone utter, 'How cute. I guess __**I**__ will have to tell her the true reason of our visit.'_

She shakes her head, both of her hands massaging her temples in hope to dismiss the lingering memories of that fateful night. She is placing the last dress in the basket when Mary joins her in the laundry quarters.

Mary is the only servant, beside Merlin and Head Cook, whom Gwen has good relationships with among the royal staff. Most Palace workers had become wary of the young maid in the wake of her arrest for witchcraft and Tom's conviction for sorcery.

Rumors blossomed fast amid the servants' quarters, whispers spreading through the castle like wildfire, turning into a second skin that shrouds its reluctant victim. Gwen had been shunned by her peers, who mostly ignored her and cast her out of their social shindigs out of fear but more importantly jealousy and envy, resenting her closeness to Camelot's royal offspring.

'Hello Gwen, it has been awhile since I've seen you around here', Mary offers as she releases the basket she had been holding with her mistress linens.

'Hello Mary. Yes, I had some family visiting. It had taken quite a lot of my time'

'Indeed I heard.' Mary smiles at her, clasping Gwen's hands with her own, 'I was glad when Merlin told me of your family staying with you. You had been by yourself for much too long. Besides, you must be fed up of seeing the same faces over and over again', the young maid added with a laugh contagiously finding her way on Gwen's lips.

'Don't be silly, if it wasn't for you and Merlin, I don't think I would have coped with … what happened. I cannot thank you enough for being there when all was falling apart around me.'

'No need to thank us. You are the strongest and most gracious person I have ever met. I didn't have the chance to meet him but your Father must have been a good and fortunate man to claim you as his daughter.'

Gwen smiles at her friend, grateful, 'I hope I could repay you one day.'

Mary shrugs then giggles happily, 'Well, you can start by indulging with me in a round of Palace gossip. Gods, you don't know how I missed you! There was no one to tell all the news about our favorite socially impaired royal family. You cannot imagine all that happened in court when you were not here! Prince Arthur has had a new sweetheart, Lady Margaret, the daughter of a visiting royal neighbor.'

A pang of hurt cuts Gwen's breathing, her stomach twisting in knots, 'Oh. It seems Prince Arthur had been quite enjoying himself. Uther must have been happy', she manages to sputter as she seeks to compose herself, her voice betraying her inner turmoil. _For Gods' sake, Gwen. Get a grip. Why would you care?_.

Fortunately for her, Mary was too engrossed in her glee to finally find a chance for gossip, to notice the maid's darkened mood, 'Oh no, not to worry this one was definitely not Queen material. They parted ways mere days before her departure. Apparently our young Prince needed some distraction. Although his knights said the Lady had been a tough nut to crack, her Father being there and all. I wish he would crack mine as well, to be honest'

'Oh my Gods. Mary!', Gwen exclaims in half laughter, half shock

'Please, come off it, Gwen. I am sure even a prude like you has one day dreamed of Prince Arthur warming her bed.' Mary says; a glint of mischief sparkling in her green eyes.

'Never', Gwen countered

'By Uther's Kingdom and Camelot's knights, you lie! Who knew perfect little Guinevere was capable of deceit! If I could I would raise my eyebrows as high as those of Gaius to mark my disapproval!'

'I am not lying, I swear'

'Well we'll see about that' Mary replies and she launches herself on Gwen, tickling the maid into surrender. 'Admit it, Gwen, you find Arthur quite the male specimen!'

Gwen squeals in surprise, her laugh echoing in the quarters, as she attempts to tickle Mary back. They struggle for awhile until Mary trips on a piece of linen and lands on the room's pavement, Gwen following suit. The two maids lay on their backs, hilarity still bubbling through their chest, trying to catch their breath. 'So, do I have your confession, oh sweet Guinevere?'

'Well, I must concede our Prince is quite handsome. But that is his duty, he is a Prince. He must be handsome and well endowed'

'Oh my Gods, you hussy! Tut, tut, tut Gwen, Gaius would definitely not approve'

They both snicker until the haze of merriment dissipates through the last blob of laughter fleeting out of their heart.

'My stomach hurts'

'Mine too.'

'Thank you, Mary'

'What for?'

'Making me laugh, I can't remember the last time I truly, freely laughed', Gwen said, her fingers tracing the outlines of her lips.

'Then it is my pleasure.' Mary says, before turning to look at Gwen with shifty eyes.

'What?'

'Hussy.'

Another explosion of laughter ensues before dying down with the familiar sound of approaching steps, the delicate fingers of fear tracing their way along their spine to herald the advent of their soon to be visitor.

The figure of Lady Caroline, the head mistress of the Laundry quarters, looms out of the cloisters shadows; she was the most hated and feared superintendent of the Palace, known for her snide remarks, bitterness and cruelty, leading to her being referred to as The Washed Up Lady.

Both maids stand up apace, resuming their chores before the arrival of the acrimonious noble woman. The head mistress enters the laundry quarters amid polite silence only disturbed by the sound of linens being folded. Upon hearing her footsteps, Gwen and Mary turn and curtsey before her, offering a well rehearsed, 'My Lady', in unison.

'Well, well, well. What have we here? The cow and the brat. Always late, always slow, always loud. No wonder no man in Camelot finds you suitable enough to marry. You are merely good enough to warm the nobles' beds for their drunken nights.'

The Lady watches both made, waiting for a reaction, a reason for her to send them to the donjons for some good round of lashing. Mary bites her tongue hard, trying not to let her natural impulse take over her controlled composure. Lady Caroline approaches Gwen, the young maid's head still bowed.

She sniffs, her face distorting into a disgusted grimace as she straightens, 'Get out of my sight, I cannot abide the foul stench any longer'.

Both maids snatch their basket and take their leave, swiftly treading as far away from the wench as humanly possible. They turn a corridor, when Mary exclaims, 'It is a miracle her husband only has two mistresses. No wonder he cannot stand her. Old whining hag!'

Gwen giggles at Mary's pouting, the beryl-eyed maid screwing her face in a deep scowl to express her sour mood, 'Pay her no heed, Mary, she is just a bitter woman. It must be unbelievably hurtful to have all Camelot know of her husband's dalliances. I feel bad for her sometimes.'

'Well, I can't. No wonder not even Gaius would want to crack that old wench's nut! And the Gods know your guardian needs some physical exertion! He needs to awake his inner Sybarite, if you ask me…', at that Mary offers her friend a wink answered by Gwen's hilarity that she endeavors to bridle as not to attract unwanted attention. They come across a junction between two other corridors, one leading to the royal chambers, while the other steers down to the servants' quarters.

'I am headed down to the realm of the annoying masses. Pray tell, where does your fateful path lead you to, My Lady Guinevere?'

'Stop it Mary, you know I don't like it when you call me like that'

'It is not my fault if your mark is that of nobility, which you let show through your character and not your appearance unlike our dear rulers.'

Gwen shakes her head, despite the fond smile sparkling on her lips, 'There is nothing noble in me. I am just Gwen. So, no more high-born moniker. Please.'

Mary shrugs, 'As you wish. You are one of a kind, Gwen. You may be the only commoner I know glad of her own lot'

'What can I say? I am most content in being ordinary'; she replies a wide grin lighting up her features

'You may be a lot of things Guinevere but ordinary is not one of them'. Her heart stops when she hears the familiar soft velvet of his voice.

It had been a month since his sultry intonations of her name had come tickling her ears, teasing her ever more frail defenses. She had dismissed his affect on her for annoyance and apprehension, he was the future King after all, a bratty one at that, it was natural she would fear him.

She had witnessed Spring's benevolent sun yearly awake Camelot from its winter tide slumber but this time the traditional fluttering of her heart and blossoming elation that used to welcome it withered away instead of settling its warm blanket on her dispositions. That is when she made her affection and reason reluctantly sign a truce so their quarrel would stop feasting like a Sultan on her poor soul. She might lie to others but couldn't fool herself by ignoring the simple truth: she missed him.

'My Lord', both maids perform the requisite figure to greet his royal highness, who stops short before them, his favorite dark blue jacket clashing with his white shirt. He stares at Gwen, searching for her eyes, silently amused at her stubborn refusal to meet his gaze as she keeps her head bowed; the two of them oblivious to the audience studying their joust with a knowing smile.

'If I may be excused My Lord, I am needed in the servants' quarters.' Gwen sends Mary an imploring look, a silent plea not to forsake her to the Prince's scrutiny but to no avail, her friend's smirk letting her know she would gladly become an eager participant in Camelot's heir's teasing of her heart.

'You may go', Arthur dismisses, his eyes never straying from the maid's fidgeting petite form as Mary curtsies and flits the scenery with muffled giggling.

Gwen gathers some bravery and lifts her gaze; finally, 'I should take my leave as well, My Lord. The Lady Morgana is waiting for her linens and my assistance.'

He smirks, 'Well, it happens Morgana's quarters are on my path so perhaps we could make the route together. If my insufferable presence doesn't bother you, that is'

'Of course not. You are the Prince, My Lord, you may go wherever you please.'

Arthur rolls his eyes at the maid's distance bordering sometimes on utter coldness toward him, the two of them heading to the King's ward chambers, 'Ah yes, I forgot how much you liked treating me like an ancient royal. My Lord … Why not call me Arthur? At least I wouldn't feel as old as Gaius or Geoffrey de Monmouth-'

Gwen smiles at his protest, the fleeting upturn of her lips turning into a giggle when she lifts her gaze and catches him pouting. 'It wouldn't be proper, My Lord'

'Details, details … What if I beg?', Arthur asks, suggestively raising his eyebrows

Gwen responds by casting him a not impressed look that makes him chuckle this time.

He shrugs, a mischievous smirk dancing on his lips, prompting Gwen's heart to flutter, 'I could order you to …'. He bursts out laughing at her murderous glare, placating his hands in sign of peace 'Now, now, if looks could kill ... I guess I will have to resort back to begging. Please, my dear Guinevere, I solemnly ask of you to forgo that dreadful title and call me by my given name… or I shall tease you about the man I am inside discourse forever and ever'

A piqued Gwen stops suddenly in her steps, scowling at a grinning Prince Arthur, unable to fight the urge to offer his royal highness a piece of her mind, her voice betraying the whining undertones she strived to conceal, 'Now that is utterly unfair, you know I cannot as a servant abide to your request while I am also bound to your kinship. And as I told you before, I don't remember anything about any discourse that fateful night', punctuating her jaded tirade by an emphatic 'My Lord'.

Arthur crosses his arms, a smug look creeping up on his features, 'Tsk, tsk, tsk. My dear Gwen, you lie.' He dismisses her scoff of indignation by a royal wave of his hand, a soft smile playing on his lips while his expectant gaze surveys her intently, 'I am waiting …'

'Forgive me, Sire, but I cannot fathom why my addressing you by your given name matters so much'

Arthur's features soften at her question, 'Well, you are the sole person I know who seems to see me as more than a brattish Prince. Or at least, expresses it with faith instead of antagonism or the constant need to patronize. Your opinion matters to me, more than you can imagine. I would feel honored if you granted me you friendship and if you treated me with the same warmth than you do with Morgana or even Merlin. Besides, that is what friends do, address each other with no formality'.

A tense silence falls between them, the Prince fidgeting, ill at ease with his confession, only enhanced by the maid's polite reserve. 'I don't know what to say to this, Sire'

'Yes would be good. The only times I have heard my name uttered by a female were in bliss or fury. Believe me when I say that I am in dire need for normalcy concerning this little privilege.'

Gwen chuckles, shaking her head before locking eyes with warm sapphire ones, 'I guess I could try. But not in public. Rumors spread fast'

Arthur nods, flashing his disarming grin, leading Gwen to curse herself for her inability to remain stoic and collected against his obvious charms. He looks around them before cheekily adding, 'I see no public here so perhaps you could start right this moment'

Gwen rolls her eyes before they both share a laugh; silently acknowledging the new turf their relationship had wandered to as they resume their walk.

'Merlin told me you had distant family visit you these past weeks.'

'Yes, some relatives from my mother's side.'

'I am glad you had company. I can only imagine how lonely you had been this past year. I hope their visit brought you care and some peace of mind'

He can see her mood darken, a familiar thin veil of grey swathe her sparkling eyes as her gaze turns distant. 'Guinevere, are you alright?'

'Yes, it is just … their visit had brought back some memories. That is all.' She blinks and offers him a fake, strained smile he's learned to decipher as an attempt to dismiss her resurging pain.

'Indeed, it can sometimes trigger quite painful thoughts. You juggle with lingering feelings you thought you'd buried long ago. You yearn to catch the smallest reminiscence to help you feel you knew her just a little bit; find any sign of her character within you… I can understand that'

They had arrived at Morgana's quarters; they stop at her door, Arthur relieving the guards away from their positions.

Gwen locks eyes with the Prince, discerning the mutual grief they shared for the loss of a motherly care they never truly had time to revel into. Arthur offers her a wry smile, 'See, I am not as out of touch to some realities as you may suspect. I gather this is the main reason you feel a kinship with Morgana and Merlin. I only hope you would one day see me in the same light as you do them.'

Gwen nods, matching the subtle upturn of his lips with her own, 'I already do', and she adds almost naturally, 'Arthur'.

Her quiet whisper of his name is his undoing. His smile falters, hooded orbs roving her features, staring right through her soul. There was an urgency, a fire in his gaze that makes her unable and unwilling to avert her eyes, pinning her to the spot. His hand tentatively reaches out and, in a well rehearsed ritual, tucks a rebellious curl behind her ear. His scarred fingers graze the soft skin of her jaw, his palm cupping her left cheek. The caress of his thumb sends electricity bolts through every fiber of her being, her hands clutching the basket she is holding as an anchor into a reality that is fast meddling with fantasy.

She suppresses a shiver, her knees almost giving out, when his thumb traces the contour of her mouth, in a plea to part her lips, almond eyes still glued to his darkened ones. She is overwhelmed by the onslaught of sensations flowing through her; the loud thumps of her heart, the canorous whispers of the wind, his scent tickling her nostrils - a mixture of wood, soap and an intimate essence that holds his mark-, the rasp of the wooden basket against her moist hands; her aching stomach twisting in fear tangled with anticipation as his features tread closer and closer and-

'Arthur, don't'. He stops abruptly, straightening as she swallows a thick gulp and takes two steps backwards, in an attempt to escape his hold.

Her shocked expression is matched by his confused one, tainted with a touch of disappointment as they each try to reclaim their bearings.

'I… I-Forgive me, I'm sorry. I thought… I should not have done that', the usually brazen Prince, stumbles upon his words not quite registering the reason to her change of heart when she seemed ready and willing a moment ago. Gwen trains her eyes on the linen, clinging to her basket. She is saved from further embarrassment by Morgana's appearance on her doorstep, her curious fast turned suspicious look going back and forth between the maid and her adopted brother.

They both regain their composure, under the dissecting scrutiny of the royal ward. A quieted Gwen curtseys, offering a muffled 'My Lord' and flees into Morgana's chambers leaving the two "siblings" staring at each other. Morgana silently treads back to her quarters, before stopping at the door, a hand on the metal handle. 'This is the last time you ever touch her, Arthur Pendragon'.

He is too startled by the cold edge in her voice to respond as her lean figure vanishes in her chambers' ingress.

The sound of the door closing tears him back to his senses. 'Shit!'.

* * *

They are treading through the sunlit prairie, their red caped escort surveying their surroundings. Gwen's polite yet obdurate silence is fast becoming an itch her high-born pride would not scratch. She had questioned her maid rather forcefully the day she stumbled upon her and Arthur, two weeks ago but Gwen waved off the incident and recoiled into the muted habit of her chores, assisting her through her noble ministrations. Just now, she had tried cajoling her into a confession only resulting in the maid offering her a wry smile and yet another reassertion of her commoner solitude.

She can admit she played a key part in fostering the growing distance between them, too incensed in discovering her magic, learning the extent of her power and longing for the day she would escape the dreadful cage the walls she used to call her home had become; they were unrelentingly closing in on her, denying her true nature to force her into the mold of a woman she will never be. Indeed, she can confess her negligence to the handmaiden but she is not the only one whose dispositions had altered. Gwen had become more secretive, prudent … even weary nowadays, a distorted figure of her past bubbly self that carried a faith and a light the events of the past two years had eventually managed to dim, rendered into a tiny sparkle that would flick for mere moments only.

She had been surprised when Gwen told her some distant relatives had come to visit her, as she always thought the maid had no family left. No one had ever known of Gwen's mother and Tom was an orphan whose guardian had passed away long before the poor man's unseen death. Relief had fast overtaken her puzzlement though, as she gladly freed Gwen of her evening duties, striking two birds with one stone: Gwen would stay longer with her family while she could use the added time to practice and perfect her magic, especially now that she had a newfound teacher.

She would have never thought another magic being could survive let alone wander freely in the royal Palace, but apparently she did. It was after her return from the Druid camp that she had come to her, Gwen had just left and Morgana had been tucked in her bed when her form appeared from the ashes of her chambers hearth, emerald eyes fast turning an incandescent red. She told the royal ward she was the one who conjured the message in her room, informed her she had an extraordinary destiny waiting for her far away from these lands, although she wasn't ready to fulfill it just yet. And that there was another soul bearing magic in the castle.

They had spent the remaining weeks training in the evening and during the night, Morgana revealing an eager and sedulous pupil, while they would cross each other's path when the Sun was high in the sky, seemingly unknown to each other's sphere. However their ritual altered two nights ago. Morgana had just mastered teleporting back and forth when she asked her young mentor of her true lineage and past secrets, after regaining her bearings, exhausted from her strength consuming magic.

The utterance of Uther had rendered the air thick with despise and hatred later concealed by a mask of cold indifference. The red-eyed woman had smiled then, her narrow eyes petrifying a usually not easy to scare Morgana. 'Perhaps, wandering through the land of the dead could awake his spirit to your query. There, you should find the answers to his unfortunate demise and the lie that had been fostering your existence'. She had disappeared in the wake of her instructions, not allowing Morgana another inquiry or reply. The following day, the dark haired noble asked Uther for a pilgrimage to Gorlois tomb.

They have entered the bed of a dried out watercourse, treading through the path embraced by verdurous hills when the King's ward's eyes are drawn to a sparkling light. It is not long before the white lure fades to reveal the swords of the bandits attacking their convoy.

* * *

Her features twist in pain as the guards pull on her shackles to steer her tired form to her awaiting cage, Hengist walking beside them. His castle is dark and dirty, rather built as a prison than a home. They tread through the dank stenches of the underground corridors, littered with discarded tankards, ale splattered all over the rocky floor. She can hear the sounds of his men enjoying the charms of the meretricious prostitutes, sent by a certain Lord Obadiah, a small handsel of the lush gifts he offered to celebrate his new appointment as King of Asgard, in hope to seal a new alliance with Hengist.

As they turn a corner, she suddenly stops at the strange scenery unfolding before her brown orbs. A womanly figure draped in a red cloak is standing a few feet before them. She seems to inspect little girls, all standing in line, hands and ankles bound in shackles, some of them sporting bruises on their tired and weary features.

Sensing their presence the woman turns toward them and Gwen chokes on the knot of fear caught in her throat. The woman's red eyes shine in a blood-like light, enhancing the paleness of her face, framed in the golden halo of her locks. She directs her focus back to her escort, half a dozen strong men covered in rich fabric, their carriage the testament of many years of breeding and meticulous culling to create an invulnerable race of fighters, knights whose sole purpose is to protect their Queen. She approaches the Head of her guards, placing her hand on his chest, 'Syreth, round the girls and send them to Erythrea. I will follow soon'. Lord Syreth nods, gesturing for his men to take their young prisoners as they take their leave, him following suit though not before he covers her pearly hand with his dark brown one, offering a faint press from his fingers.

The woman soon treads toward the master of the castle, eyes fixed on Gwen. She is greeted by the smarmy mimicry of a curtsey from Hengist to which she only answers with a faint nod. 'I thought I said the girls were not to be harmed.'

Hengist snorts and offers, without any hint of apology, 'Well, they are feisty little creatures. Some of them required a bit of softening.'

'I hope you didn't-'

'They are all untainted, as you asked'. The woman gestures towards Gwen, Hengist replying to the unuttered inquiry, 'May I present the Lady Morgana, Uther's ward. We await a ransom for her pretty little head.'

The red-eyed woman snickers, a mocking smirk playing on her scarlet lips, 'Is that so? Well then, it is an honor My Lady'. She doesn't curtsey though, her gaze, full of despise, studying a petrified Gwen. _Although we both know your royalty is only borrowed. Silk was never meant to be worn by a Sith afterall_. Gwen's eyes widen in shock, enhanced by the woman's knowing smile.

'From what I can hear, you have received the gifts from Lord Obadiah. Queen Brunhild would appreciate if both your moieties joined forces against Uther.'

'I must confess I still hold some reservations. But if it is that vital to the Queen, I am sure we could come to an agreement with Asgard.'

'Good.' She cast a last glance to Gwen before offering a nod and a mere, 'Hengist' as a parting gesture.

'Lady Ametha', the northern warrior bows as the witch is wrapped into a wind of red dust, her form vanishing in the wake of tiny indigo specks, also disappearing to join their mistress.

They resume their walk to her cell, a tiny room carved into the mountains rocks, with a simple bed and table as sole furniture, though her brief tour of the castle made her relish these Spartan offerings after she witnessed the filthy cages in which were parked Hengist prisoners whom he liked to regard as goods.

'Leave us'.

Tiny pearls of sweat born out of fear prickle her neck, as she hears the bandits' king instruct his men. She is still shackled to her chains as she sees Hengist approach, his eyes staring at her trembling figure. 'Tell me my dear Lady Morgana, why would Lady Ametha sneer at my calling you Uther's ward?'

Gwen tries to even her breathing, gathering her strength to channel her most royal disdainful posture, 'I wouldn't know. It is her you should ask, not me.'

Hengist smirks, treading closer to a now glaring Gwen and slaps the young woman with the back of his hand. Gwen falls to her knees, two red drops stain the rock floor. She wipes the blood from her lower lip, wincing as she cradles her bruised cheek. She shuts her eyes, hoping to will away the tears gathering under her closed eyelids but salty trickles moist her caramel skin when Hengist rough hand takes her chin and forces her to look at him, seething, 'Do not lie to me. None has come or even lifted the smallest finger for you. Uther is known for loving his ward, he has not even sent for a peace offering. Why?'

'I don't know. But if you dare touch me, you will rue the day you were born', her voice was steady and tainted with the noble's trademark arrogance, but her features had started to show the cracks in her royal mask.

'Really? Because if by tonight there is no word from Camelot, I will make it my personal pleasure to show you how liars are treated in my kingdom. Then you will be the one to rue the day you were born.' He shoves her unto the bed, and turns to leave the cell.

Her shaking hands wipe the golden streams of her fears from her cheeks. Hengist was right, no one would come, not even Ethel. She couldn't afford to wait for Lancelot to rescue her. She would have to save herself.

* * *

'I cannot believe you sent us to our death like that!'. Merlin and his royal master have just escaped the wilderens thanks to an experimental ploy Prince Arthur had carried out, seemingly with success.

'Stop complaining, would you? We are not far from the castle and we need to reach it before nightfall. There is no time to waste.'

The Prince's haste had fast ripened into desperation as they edged closer to Hengist castle, prompting Merlin to question Arthur's true reasons to contemplate and follow such a dangerous mission. He had caught the little glimpses of, if not friendship, at least easiness between his two friends but never thought much of it, mistaking their relationship for casual acquaintance due to their closeness to Morgana.

Although, two weeks ago, they started avoiding each other; rather Gwen did everything not to cross the Prince's path, while his highness grew more piqued at the maid's endeavors he had clearly caught on to.

Nevertheless, Merlin is quite adamant the fondness Arthur held for Morgana had evolved into a brotherly care, never warranting such urgency for the search and rescue of her maid.

'You seem quite eager to deliver Gwen from these bandits. A little more and I would believe you are more interested in the maid than in Morgana's begging'

Arthur doesn't flinch, dismissing his manservant's question with his ever reliable sarcasm, 'I already knew you were not much of a servant, Merlin. I guess you are not much of a friend either. Never thought you would be so cold feet to save Gwen.'

'Oh please, I am not the one barely aware she existed a year ago and now playing knight in shining armor. For your former lover's maid, at that!'

Arthur stops in his tracks, turning to face the warlock, cold anger dripping from his icy orbs. 'What are you trying to imply?'

'I am merely asking what changed between you and Gwen.'

'This is not the time, nor the place for such indiscretions. Why are trying to have this ridiculous discussion?'

'Why are you dodging the question?'

The Prince internally winces at his manservant's insightful retort, as mocha skin, almond eyes and sooty curls kept harassing his every thought since he's learned of her capture. 'I guess I have learned to see what I was trained to ignore all my existence. Gwen is the kind soul you are fortunate to cross path with, let alone have in your life. She has been nothing but loyal to Camelot, to me, you, Morgana… She has sacrificed a lot for us. It is only justice we did the same for her.'

'Whatever your intentions, I only wish for you to tread with care. Gwen… she is still fragile. And I fear her family's visit has only brought more gloom than relief.'

'Whatever my intentions, she doesn't seem eager to welcome them', Arthur replies with a shrug of his shoulders, 'but thank you for not threatening to gauge my eyes out lest I would hurt her, as some people are so intent to believe'

Merlin snorts, the features of a dark haired beauty forming in his mind at the Prince's snarky reply, 'Well, you may be a brat but you are certainly not a cad. Besides I think your assumption of Gwen's supposed coldness is skewed. She has changed, we all have. But one thing I know is she holds great faith in your being the King Camelot deserves to have, a great and fair King, and the Gods know your ego doesn't need any more stroking but I must confess I share her belief.'

'I can understand some events could have rendered her wary of my mere presence. I only wish she could accept that her friendship and support are the only things I ask of her.', Arthur lets out in a sigh, dismissing the inner voice questioning the understated truth of his words.

Merlin nods, offering a small smile to convey his empathy toward the Prince, as he picks their bags to resume their quest, 'For this you would have to find her. How long until we reach the gods forsaken castle?'

'Not long. It should only amount to a mere blink of an eye if you follow us'. Both men turn at the warm voice coming out of the bushes. They can see two women, one with chocolate skin akin to that of Gwen with whom the resemblance extends to her thick curls, with a younger fair haired beauty with green eyes falling into her steps.

'Who are you?', Arthur asks, drawing out his sword.

The older woman steps further, her dark cloak hiding a part of her face, 'My name is Ethelfleda. And I am here to bring Guinevere home. I see we share the same purpose and come to offer my assistance.'

She adds as her deep olive eyes turn to Merlin, 'We are the guests Guinevere had welcomed these past weeks and as opposed to what your servant might think, our family visit has brought relief indeed. My niece is not frail. She holds more strength that either one of you could ever be capable of mustering'. _We meet at last Emrys. What was said was indeed true. You are the servant to Uther's son. Rather incongruous after what happened between your father and Uther._ His breath catches in his throat, heart pounding in his chest as Ethel smiles wryly and turns to Andraste. 'May I present you Andraste, my companion? She will help us tread to the castle unnoticed.'

Andraste offers a mere bow to greet the future king, 'Prince Arthur. Son of Uther, the mass murderer. It is rather ironic you would go on a mission to save the servant when your Father is the main reason she is an orphan', she snorts as Ethel steps between the Prince and the witch, casting a weary glance at her consort, 'Andraste, please. This is not the time, nor the place!'

The younger goddess shrugs, rolling her eyes at Ethel's hiss as she smirks when catching Arthur's glare. She yields out of Oya's deity's path, bowing to her elder companion, 'if you may lead the way…'

Ethel heaves an exasperated sigh and gestures for both men to come along, although the Prince of Camelot is having none of it.

'How could two defenseless women help us enter a castle guarded with bandits and swords? Forgive me but you don't appear to be formidable opponents', Arthur snaps, his trademark royal entitlement and gall glistening from his gaze as he surveys both women.

'At least we are not little girls weeping because dear Gwennie does not hold us in great esteem. Boohoo. I must admit I do not really blame her. You are not much of a future King it seems. Like Father like son I guess. Allow me to show you how defenseless we are, My Lord', Andraste steps forward, Ethel clearing her path, her arms crossed as she nods to instruct the younger goddess to teach these evermore arrogant humans a lesson in humility.

Andraste flicks a finger and Arthur cries out as the hilt of his sword turns incandescent and burns his hand, prompting him to drop the weapon. His eyes widen as he witnesses his sword yield out of the yoke of gravity to levitate in the air, slowly turning toward his former master to point the tip of its blade at his royal face. The sword treads closer before hitting him in a sharp strike cutting a piece of his locks and scratching his now faintly bleeding ear. The prince is still trembling as Andraste's magic makes the sword sheathe itself in the dragon crested scabbard.

Both men are petrified under the two witches despising gaze, Ethel refocusing their attention to the more pressing matters at hand, 'As my consort just exhibited, magic will be our main mean of entrance. Forgive me Sire but you are the defenseless ones. Swords have long been archaic and stale just as your existence as a mere human knight with no other power than your blade is becoming senescent by the day. Your manservant could offer you some valuable insight into what your narrow mind seems incapable to fathom. I advise you not to dare despise what has outshone and out powered you long ago. If your affection for my niece is what you claim to be, you will spare us your princely whims and follow us. If not, stay out of our path and go back to your royal quarters. Have I made myself clear?'

Gone was the warm and soothing nature that exuded from her caring gaze. Ethel's eyes had now turned argent, a silvery aura surrounding her figure, laying bare her human vessel to let shine the goddess trapped in the cage made of flesh and bones.

Arthur bows before both deities, Merlin in his tow as both men acknowledge their insignificance in comparison to these forces, sisters of Mother Nature, 'Forgive my pettiness. As you have gathered, I would not be here if I did not hold Guinevere in high regard. We will do everything we can to assist you through her rescue.'

'Then tread closer, Prince Arthur.' _Come as well, Emrys_. Both men approach Ethel as Andraste's mind traces a circle on the ground encompassing them. She is the last to step into the gyre. 'Shut your eyes. Do not open them until I order so', she instructs. Both Camelot people follow her orders as they sense a cold breeze embrace them, icy arms enfolding their figures. They clinch their teeth in pain as they feel those icy hands now forcing them into a narrow aperture, rendering the air scarce as though drowning in a bottomless well. The cold air suddenly turns warm, sweat prickling their features as their breathing reclaims its soothing rhythm. 'Open your eyes', they obey the whispered injunction and nearly stumble in wonder. They were a corridor away from Hengist common room, the castle vibrating to the sound of men sword fighting near the entrance of the fortress. Their heart clench when they hear one man roar 'Take the prisoners to the Wilderen', muffling the cries of a female voice, Gwen's voice.

* * *

She is hurrying through the crystal corridors, mirrors posing as walls, throwing her reflection back at her as she treads through the white labyrinth. _Why would a Sith pass for Lady Morgana?_ The young girl's dusty colored skin, her features kept resurging in the tangled threads of her psyche, niggling at her conscience throughout their trip back to Erythrea.

'Leave the girls to me, I will send them to Etna to be prepared for Queen Brunhild. Go see Aife and tell her what you saw.', Syreth had told her, his dark fingers caressing the alabaster skin of her face, shooing her away to the Light's Priestess.

She knocks on the giant silver door and threads in the High Priestess quarters. 'What brings me the pleasure of your visit, Ametha? I thought you were preparing the girls for Brunhild'. Aife is studying the water of a small silvery well set at the center of her chambers, tipping some potion in the dark boiling liquid that turns gold when touched by the draught's drops.

'Aife, something is happening and I cannot make sense of it'

The priestess straightens, her puzzled gaze taking in the witch's urgent reply, 'Your instinct has never betrayed you before. What is the matter, my child?'

Ametha treads closer to stand before the well, a few feet from the priestess, 'When I went to collect the girls at Hengist castle, I saw a young woman, she was their new prisoner. Hengist presented her as the Lady Morgana. But she wasn't. She was a Sith.'

Aife approaches Ametha, brows knit, 'A Sith? Are you sure? Almost all Sith were exterminated through the purge and its aftermath, the surviving ones were sent to the Dark as slaves. Only one had escaped, and even he could not be seen as a Sith, rather an improved version of those inferior beings'

Ametha shakes her head, understanding who was in the elder woman's mind, 'No it is not him. It was a woman. Thick curls, caramel skin … a bit like yours but lighter, deep brown eyes. She wore Morgana's dress. She was pretty but not strikingly beautiful. She had that shy and reserved loveliness as opposed to Morgana's noble and ethereal beauty.'

Realization dawns on Aife, Ametha's portrayal awaking the vision that had come to her all those years ago. She clasps the younger witch's delicate hands, brown entwining with ivory, staring at her with bridled desperation, 'Ametha, I need your assistance but I would ask you not to inform Brunhild'

The gold haired lady stiffens, fear abrading her throat, 'I suppose you are well aware of the punishment for treason-'

'Yes. But I also believe Lord Syreth and you challenge Brunhild rules every day for a chance to love each other without restraints', the Seer retorts, gazing intently at Ametha's red eyes.

'This is low'

'I know. Forgive me Ametha but it is the only way. You are one of Brunhild's most powerful witches but I can see you long for a new world, with less binds and more freedom. And you can trust me when I tell you that I too am tired of war and violence.'

Ametha shut hers eyes, seeking to find her inner peace so her reason could whisper its counsel to puzzle out her dilemma. But instead of a reasonable and well thought out answer, she only sees the features of a strong knight, his dark brown skin, his deep ebony orbs holding this unresolved oxymora that set her soul ablaze the first time he laid eyes on her. These eyes able to offer the tenderest gaze she had ever witnessed while capable of turning into evil weapons to protect their ruler. 'Syreth would never betray her.'

'That was before he met you. I trust his allegiance has altered. Love is the only weapon more powerful than a Queen Witch bind after all'

She lets out a sigh, defeated, 'Tell me what I have to do.'

* * *

'For gods sake, what do you want?!', the guard bellows at the knocks on her cell's door. His companion has gone to relieve himself, leaving him alone to guard the supposed lady Morgana's cell. And now the harpy kept banging on the door with hell's fury, prompting to annoy him some more.

The guard stands and goes to the door, intent on teaching the young woman a lesson. He saw Hengist hit her when they brought her back, he took it as a permission to enjoy himself, one more bruise would only be regarded as a trifle punishment, knowing what was awaiting her with his master.

He had heard echoes that the girl was indeed masquerading as Uther's ward which sentences her to a slow and painful death, as it is the tradition for playing his master like a fool in Hengist kingdom. He retrieves the keys from his pockets and opens the cell. He is puzzled not to see her as he enters when he suddenly faints, his head hit by a rock.

The guard's momentary lifeless form falls to the ground as Gwen relinquishes the rock she had found under her bed. She quickly moves toward him, trembling hands searching his pockets to retrieve the keys of her chains. She finds a set of openers and tries the first one on her chains locks, but to no avail. She sighs in desperation, fear pumping acid in her veins, her heart thumping in her throat. The third key is the one and she nearly cries in relief after relieving her bruised wrists from the steely locks. She takes the guard's sword and flees her cell before the arrival of his consort.

She aimlessly turns in corridors, her eyes slowly getting used to the light, seeking to follow the sounds of voices to guide her through an exit. As she treads through another narrow cloister, she is suddenly grasped from behind by a strong arm, her scream muffled by the man's other hand, pulling her into a dark alcove.

'Shhh. It is me, Lancelot. I thought I told you to wait for me?'

She lets out a relieved sigh, her endeavors to even her breathing cutting through her whispered reply, 'I couldn't. I heard one of the guards leave and I took it as my only chance. Hengist knows I am not Morgana. We have to leave. Now or they will kill us.'

'Alright, follow me.'

They run through the entwined paths of the castle, in search of the elusive glance of the moon, to light their way out of the kingdom. They try to increase their pace as they hear the guard's alert of their escape, the castle bustling with the sounds of bandits on their trail. They arrive at the main entrance, their heart jumping as they see the gates open. They run toward their salvation but Hengist men appear from a concealed passage and attack them.

Gwen dodges a bandit, cutting his hand with her sword as she turns and stabs another guard about to hit Lancelot. They trades strikes and blows with Hengist men, when a new salvo of bandits comes to cover their unfortunate peers, unrelenting new waves of men crashing against the ever more frail defense of the maid and the dark haired knight. They are eventually overwhelmed and surrender to the guards who surround them, snatching their swords out of their hands.

They can hear Hengist furious voice howl, 'Take the prisoners to the Wilderen!'. Gwen cries in pain when a guard grasps her hair and steers her to the common room, Lancelot following suit, the bars of the fateful cage beckoning the Wilderen future victims. They are unceremoniously thrown into the cage, Gwen falling on her previously injured ankle.

As she tries to lift herself from the floor she sees four figures wrapped in dark cloaks, standing in the shadow corner of the room, behind the group of bandits heralding the giant rat's advent. Her eyes widen when she makes out a golden dragon crest on one of the dark figures' scabbard, hope soaring in her heart as she murmurs the name of the man she wished would have come to her rescue, her reason not daring to believe what her heart had dared long for, 'Arthur'.

Lancelot helps her get up but she cannot tear her eyes off the four companions, silently approaching their cage. She turns to Lancelot, eyes sparkling with renewed faith and strength, 'They are here! Arthur, he's here to save us!'.

In fate's cruel exhibit of its ill timed whims, the bars of the Wilderen's cage are lifted, allowing the blind monster to reclaim its new offerings. The bandits cruel howls of twisted glee and anticipation are fast tangled with cries of pain when the four dark figures appear in the lime light. Andraste silver eyes conjure balls of fire that set ablaze the common room, while Ethel rips open the cage's bars. Arthur follows suit striking the giant rat with his sword as it approached a limping Gwen to launch its attack on her. Their strike is met by a wave of arrows thrown by Hengist men while Merlin transforms two arrows meant for Arthur's throat into ashes.

Ethel bellows, 'Everyone in the Wilderen cage! Andraste stop the arrows!'

The younger goddess's wall of fire thickens into a translucent barrier of glass, as a rampart to Hengist attacking army, providing the rescue party with some biding time to escape the castle.

She treads backwards into the cage as Ethel shoots lightning bolts into the Wilderen's form to will it away from her niece and her three companions. As the goddesses keep Hengist's men and the monster at bay, Arthur guides Gwen, Lancelot, and Merlin through the rat's entrance. Gwen stops in her steps, turning to Ethel, 'Ethel, Andraste, come!'

The two goddesses follow suit, the rescuing legion along with the maid treading swiftly through the underground tunnel leading them to nature's pure air and luxurious costume showered in silvery light by the night's moon.

They stumble into a moonlit prairie when Ethel stops them, assessing the valley. The goddess turns to Andraste a question in her argent eyes. The witch nods, 'This will do' and with a flick of her hand traces another gyre into the ground. 'Everyone, step into the circle', Ethel orders, as she and Andraste are the last to enter the enchanted sphere.

Arthur's gruff voice orders 'Close your eyes. Do not open them until Ethelfleda instructs you to!'. His consorts do as they are bided and soon enough they are twisting in pain through the teleportation led by Andraste.

They arrive in the same meadow Arthur and Merlin had first met the two witches. The youngsters stretch themselves, muscles and limbs sore by the magical travel, Lancelot bringing down Gwen, after holding her in his arms to prevent her from suffering from the throbbing ankle that impeded her escape.

'We will camp here and return to Camelot in the morning', Ethel instructs as she treads away with Andraste to watch over their younger protégés.

Tension is thick between the four companions, Arthur features trained into an inscrutable mask, never allowing a glance to Gwen, nor Lancelot. He turns to Merlin, sending a laconic 'I will fetch some wood, stay with them' his way, not allowing his servant a retort as he leaves without further notice, his retreating form escorted by Gwen's gaze.

She is hard pressed to grasp the bitter taste of guilt that besets her heart as the Prince's vanishing figure is replaced by the reminiscence of his hurt demeanor when he witnessed her tender moment with Lancelot in the tunnel in the mayhem of their escape. The guilt is fast quelled though by her ever reliable practical sense finding its way through the forests of her emotions to chide her for assuming the Prince ever thought of her as more than a servant.

She registers Merlin's puzzled gaze studying Lancelot's hand on her back, as a support to help her stay on her feet. The dark haired knight gently takes her hand, his olive thumb tracing circles on her dusty colored palm, searching eyes inspecting her tired figure, 'Are you alright? Here, let me help you. You should rest, you had been through hell.'

Gwen doesn't have time to offer a reply as Lancelot lifts her in his arms and goes to the nearest verdant little hill to be used as a seat, softly settling Gwen on the ground so she could rest. He kneels before her, clasping his hands with hers, his feelings reflecting in the fire burning his eyes as he watches the epitome of his most ardent desires, his beckon of hope, the light guiding his existence. Prince Arthur had legions of striking beauties, noble features and fair ladies but none could be as perfect as the woman before him, gazing at him, her mere presence the evidence of fate's offering as another reason for him to live.

He frowns slightly though as she stiffens, untangling her hands with his, her eyes locked on a distant target. He turns around to see the Prince approaching, arms full with wood, as he is helped by Merlin to set a fire and a camp. He notices the Prince never spared them a glance through all of his tasks, while Gwen recoiled in an aching silence a tinge of hurt in her eyes. They are soon beckoned by Merlin to sit by the fire, Lancelot helping Gwen, the snide whispers of suspicions blowing like a whirlwind in his mind.

* * *

The humongous white doors open, Ametha steps into Erythrea's Queen Hall, a cold breeze whispering icy incantations through the walls of the room, sending shivers through her lean frame. She treads closer toward Brunhild, seated on her translucent throne, the High Priestess Aife settled on a lounging chair at her right.

She can see the master of guard, Lord Seifer and his second in command Lord Syreth stand tall in their military position on the left area of the room, a silver halo settled by the rays of sun shining through the large windows wrapping them.

She stops a few feet away from the Queen's throne, curtseying before the red–eyed royal, 'Your Majesty'.

'Lady Ametha. I believe you gathered some rather embarrassing news during your trip to Hengist'

'Yes your Highness. I believe your endeavor to send the Lady Morgana to Gorlois tomb has been thwarted. I saw a young woman pose as her mistress in Hengist castle. It appears Uther's ward convoy was assaulted by Hengist men to capture the Lady and use her for ransom.'

Brunhild screws her feature in disgust, 'Those pigs will never fail in their predictability. Filthy humans.' She turns to Ametha, contemplating her report, 'Our source in Camelot informed us Morgana had been found and taken back by Arthur's search party.'

'Yes, My Queen. From what I gathered, the bandits had used the girl to pose as Morgana lest they would be inflicted Hengist wrath. They fooled him'

'Indeed, they played him like a fiddle. What can you tell me about this prisoner?'

'I couldn't make out her features Your Majesty, I was inspecting the girls we came to collect, I barely registered the dress of the Lady Morgana, as they passed us by to send her to her cell. It is only because Hengist stopped in his path to greet us that I could ask him of her character.'

Silence falls upon the common room, as Brunhild turns to her knights, standing on the left, 'Lord Syreth, you were the Head Knight on duty for this mission, weren't you?'

Lord Syreth steps into the light and bows to Brunhild, 'Indeed, Your Majesty. I was commanding Lady Ametha's escort'.

'Did you see the girl Lady Ametha has reported about?'

'No, your Highness. As Lady Ametha explained, we were inspecting the girls while I was attending the release of the gifts sent by Lord Obadiah. I was instructing my knights of the proceedings of the travel back to Erythrea when I heard Lady Ametha ask Hengist of their prisoner. There was no girl when I joined them to take our shipment.'

'From what our source had informed us, Morgana's maid had not returned either. And Prince Arthur and Emrys had vanished from the Palace, supposedly gone on a hunting trip. I don't believe in fluke and even less fate's happy accidents. The only reasonable suggestion is that the hunting trip is rather a disguised rescue mission. But why? She is only a servant, why not let her die?', Brunhild pinches the bridge of her nose, cursing the latest dent in her well oiled machinery.

'Perhaps, this is a genuine instance of hazard at work. I cannot fathom the brazen, entitled and haughty Prince Arthur would carry out a rescue party on his own to save a servant. Only an enchantment could reveal this powerful and there is no sign of it or our agent would have told us.', Aife offers as a way to solve the conundrum brought out by Lady Ametha.

'Indeed. But she could also be the Sith from the prophecy, the one Oya has been searching for all these years. If only that damned weapon wasn't in Uther's hands, our source would have sensed it long ago and this loose end would have been tied and forgotten. I guess we will find out when Prince Arthur returns if the maid is more to him than a simple servant', Brunhild lets out in a frustrated sigh. She turns to Lady Ametha, 'Very well. You can dispose.'

'Your Majesty'. Ametha bows, and turns to leave the common room. She lets out the breath she had been holding when she enters her chambers, a relieved sigh escaping her constricted chest. She has just finished changing into a more comfortable wardrobe when she hears familiar knuckles graze her quarters entrance. Lord Syreth steps into the room, swiftly closing the entryway. He stands, his back leaning against the closed door, arms crossed, glaring at her. 'Could you tell me why you made me lie to my Queen?'.

* * *

They are waiting for Ethel and Andraste to come back from their patrol. Gwen is seated in a concealed part of the meadow, leaning against the trunk of a tree, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her dress. She hasn't uttered a word after Lancelot's abrupt departure; to be honest no one had talked much since he left. Arthur had remained silent, still passing her by as if she never existed, focused in his task of preparing their trip back to Camelot while Merlin awkwardly sits by the fire, casting glances back and forth between his two friends, wishing the ground could swallow his figure to spare him the helplessness brought by the torture he was enduring.

It was rather ironic how lonely she felt in this meadow despite being surrounded by almost all of those she cared for. She resented them for taking her affection for granted, for never allowing her voice to be heard as they were too focused in brooding over their fate or dismissing her qualms for trifle matters in the grand scheme of the world. She did not mind withholding her feelings as well as eschewing her chance at happiness to the greater good; she had been a servant all her existence afterall, it was her lot. No, she cursed those who offered her a glimpse of the forbidden fruit she would never taste lest she would damn her soul, a glance at an existence she could never live, making her pretend she could be extraordinary when they knew it was all a lie.

Tonight, despite her ordeal, the insults, the bruises and her fears, they had made her feel loved, wanted, and special. To have this small army of witches, servant, knight and the Prince of Camelot himself come to her rescue had made her consent to embrace feelings she always thought were not meant for her. Only to have it snatched away again. That Arthur made her pay for a fault she never committed did not surprise her although it didn't prevent the pain. That Merlin strayed away from this ridiculously improbable amorous quarrel did not belie her opinions although it smarted her heart, but she would have never thought Lancelot would be the one having so little regard for her person.

She had listened to the tales and romanticized her first steps onto the path of love, thinking her knight in shining armor would harbor the features of a dark haired commoner who shared her ideals and values as much as the color of her eyes. However, she had been content calling love a care for him that wasn't the passion that would burn her to the core and set her soul ablaze as she so often heard; on the opposite, breezing in through a quite throbbing, a shy and discreet fancy like a steady river never straying from its bed, easily finding its way in the quiet nature of her heart. Until, the river was no match to the fire that set alight her small dominion, leaving the mark of a royal dragon crest on her concealed kingdom.

She might not have echoed his sentiment but she had hoped he would have bid her farewell, given her the chance to thank him and vow her faith in him, even though not the kind he longed for. Instead he only offered her another reason to wish away these matters of the heart shaking her foundations and rendering her quiet life into a chaos she could not bridle.

She hears the two goddesses return, giving instructions to Arthur and Merlin as she tries to stand on her feet, the pain in her ankle receding with each step toward her aunt and consort. She steels her soul when she recognizes an apology in Ethel's eyes, as Andraste treads toward the nearby river and closes her eyes, her mind rendering the peaceful flowing of the water into a boiling ocean fast turning into an abyss. Her magic sets ghouls of wind blowing through the meadow akin to a little tornado, making Gwen's steps toward the brown skinned goddess seem like marching through a wall.

As she joins Ethel, her aunt offers her a wry smile tainted of sorrow matched by an understanding nod from Gwen. The goddess takes her niece in her arms, wrapped in the roaring wind, 'I will come back for you, I swear. You know what you must do, do you?', she whispers in Gwen's ear.

The young woman clings to the only family she has left, 'I will not fail, I promise. In case you cannot come back, I hope you will remember me'.

'I will never forget you Guinevere'. Ethel caresses Gwen's cheek before turning to Arthur and Merlin, standing a few feet behind, also engulfed in the howls of whirlwind. 'Follow my orders and everything shall be well', she shouts through the wind.

'We will', Arthur responds

Ethel is treading toward Andraste but stops in her steps and turns once again to the Prince, 'Arthur Pendragon, I put Guinevere under your care, make sure nothing happens to her'

Arthur cannot see Gwen's features as they are hidden behind the curtain of thick curls flying in the wind's gusts but it is as though he could hear the wild thumping of her heart through the screeching sound of the tempest, 'I will', he shouts at Ethel who nods and turns to Andraste.

The two goddesses enter the watery abyss, the tornado closing in on their figures, they seem as though they are descending stairs in the watery gorge before the magical entrance is sealed with a wave of water, erasing the gate with its aquamarine cloak as if it never were there. The ghouls of wind die down, the river flowing again in its quiet ritual, peace wrapping the meadow as it had done before the magical interlude.

'We should leave now if we want to reach Camelot at night', Arthur orders. Gwen heaves a sigh, nods and turns to bow, 'Yes, My Lord'.

* * *

They have reached Camelot, exhausted and weary. Arthur had sent Merlin to the castle to tell Morgana, 'and only Morgana', of Gwen's arrival. He walks Gwen back to her house, weaving their way through a lower ward he has yet to be used to. He had offered his help as support for her still aching ankle but her stubborn refusal led them to reach her house far later than the Prince had foreseen, finding a distressed Morgana pacing in the confined home.

As they enter the house, Uther's ward launches herself at her maid, clinging into her, engulfing her friend into a tight embrace as she releases her fears and loneliness into the first tears she had shed since the night she arrived in Camelot decades ago. 'I thought I would never see you again', she whispers

'I thought so as well, My Lady', Gwen says, her voice muffled in Morgana's shoulder, reveling in the care she had longed for after her rescue.

Morgana turns to the Prince, gratitude in her blue eyes, 'thank you Arthur,"

"I didn't do much', he waves her gratefulness off with a tight smile. 'I think we should go, Father would notice something is wrong and all hell will break loose again.'

Morgana releases Gwen, helping her to sit on her bed, 'You must be exhausted. You should rest. I will stay with you until you wake up. Is there anything you need?'

Gwen shakes her head, slumber and tiredness creeping up on her sore muscles, 'No, My Lady, I am fine. Merlin and Gaius will remain by my side. You should go back to the Palace, or we will attract unwanted attention.'

'She is right, Morgana. You know Father will ask for answers if he discovers we went to rescue Guinevere without his consent. Go back to your quarters. Merlin will fetch Gaius to attend to her. Do not worry, she is safe now.', Arthur orders, fidgeting on the house threshold, afraid one step further into the maid's home would trigger lingering memories he wish not to confront, not tonight.

Morgana nods, offering a good night kiss to Gwen on her forehead before trading out of her house, Merlin in tow to search for Gaius. A constricted atmosphere settles between the maid and the Prince, each one of them training their eyes on every area as far away from the other.

'Guinevere…', she lifts her gaze, confused at the tender tone of his voice when he was nothing but cold and despising since her rescue, 'I am sorry.'

He doesn't need to say more, a shy smile the only answer she could muster as she tries not to let sadness overcome her again. He mistakes her silence for a dismissal, nodding and turning to leave before her voice brings warmth back to melt the poisonous jealousy that had frozen his heart, 'My Lord?'

He turns back to lock eyes with her almond ones, sparkling with a renewed faith he would be damned not to revel into it, 'Thank you.'

'My pleasure'. She nods, offering a genuine smile that he matches with his own. They will have to reshape their bond, define their feelings, and build bridges to meddle their two worlds. But all of this could wait. Now she was back home and it was all that mattered.


	4. Chapter 4

**Once again sorry for the long wait . Thanks to everyone who has taken time to review or alert the story. WARNING : Some graphic violence and sexual contents. Hope you enjoy ! :)**

* * *

'By the Gods, you truly have turned creaky. Who would have thought the mighty Gaius, one of the most feared wizards of all would be reduced to this pathetic vessel of an old human' The dark wyvern snickers, his sneers echoing in the cavern he never has surrendered himself to call his new home, as novel a prison could be after twenty years have passed by.

'At least I still enjoy the thrills of freedom, not crawling in a cage like a miserable rat, hoping to trick a young and, to be fair, extremely naïve wizard into releasing me. In all honesty Kilgarrah, in a contest of the most pitiful existence, there is no doubt who is the true winner'. Gaius wiggles his long fingers, toying with three little rocks that dance around one another in the constricted dank air of the rocky abyss, dwelling of Uther's most treasured possession. The old physician is sitting on a boulder, leaning against the mountain wall, lazily seeking to reconnect with the remnants of his past might.

The giant lizard snorts, galumphing around his own bedrock to eventually sit on his self appointed chair. 'Indeed, my past misdeeds do not impede my rest at night, I do not need to live with the memory of betraying my kind, do I, Gaius?'

'No, you merely have to recollect how your self-importance has got you imprisoned by a mere insect of a human, as you like to call them. How many times did I warn you, and Nimueh, not to underestimate Uther but you were too blinded to see what was awaiting you'

'Do not seek to blame me for your treachery. Uther only prevailed because of the crystal you helped steal from the unfortunate Gorlois. You destroyed the balance between our worlds, killed thousands of innocents, reduced MY KIND to fleeting disposable memories. All of this to let Uther claim a prize he did not earn. All of this because you resented your condition and strived to hold power you were not meant to have. Now, please tell me, who is the pathetic one?'

Gaius shuts his eyes, shivering at the whispers of the ghosts that have tortured him for the past two decades. He still hears the cries, sees the blood spilled, the women burned, the children enslaved, their faces turning to whirls of misty features awaking him at night, sneering at his soon to be demise. 'She is coming to avenge them'

The wyvern sighs in a whiff of hell's vaporous heat, turning to lie on his bedrock, 'She merely wants her land back. The one Uther and you drowned into the seas.'

'I do not believe Earth could survive another war'

'Well you do not have much of a choice, do you? Besides, she does not need Earth to survive, she only wants Lyonesse back', the dragon lets out a yawn that echoes through the cavern, sending little murmurs into the rocky walls.

'There is always the prophecy…'

'I do not believe your brat of a Prince and my naïve little wizard could do anything to thwart Camelot's fall. Besides, as you must have noticed, the prophecy did not come true. War is still coming upon us'

'What if it was misread?'

The dragon turns back to his feet, straightening to look right through the old man's soul. 'It cannot _be _misread.'

'The salt of the Earth will melt in the tears from the sky, men and magic will become one as the war end is nigh, a new dawn shall arise, for Camelot's child, to rule the land into its light', the physician solemnly rendered, the dragon nodding at each sentence. 'Never it is said of Arthur and Merlin, nor Uther. Only Camelot. It might have been misread Kilgarrah. We may still save ourselves.'

'Misread or not, the war is at our gates. There is no saving ourselves. No saving yourself. I shall not suffer from your deeds. My allegiance to the Old Religion has never been severed and something tells me she will need me to wreak havoc Uther's lands', Kilgarrah pointed, the trail of his thoughts echoed by the royal physician, 'You are merely biding your time.'

'Precisely, Gaius. Unlike you, I have time on my side'

The ghost of a smile flit the physician's features, as he shrugs, 'For now'

The wyvern turns to stare down at the old man's impassive mask, 'Is that a threat, Gaius?'

'I am merely reflecting on fate's unforeseen ways, never offering what is expected rather than what ought to happen.'

'Well, you are the breathing instance of fate's unforeseen ways. I guess you do not need me to remind you what the crystal does to those not supposed to lay their hands on it.', the dragon steps closer, leaning its long lepidote neck to hover over the physician, one breath from him and the man's face would turn to burnt meat. Gaius doesn't move, nor avert his eyes.

'I may look like an old man, but don't do the same mistake you did with Uther. I could make Merlin use the crystal and annihilate you into tiny little specks abandoned to oblivion-'

'And sacrifice your young apprentice in the proceedings. Indeed, this is the Gaius I know, not the one pretending to care about a warlock he only sees as a weapon yet to be honed. I thought the years would have made you wiser. It appears it only made you scared', Kilgarrah snorts, turning its furfuracious back to the physician, his long wings flying him in the air. 'I have no business to discuss with you, old man. Who do you take me for? Balinor? Don't be so presumptuous as to believe you could fool me again. Once had proved enough as my surroundings can attest'

The wyvern turns and flees into the cave's roof, beckoned by the light severing its prison from the outside realm.

Gaius stares at his retreating form, shoulders falling in surrender to the heavy burden of helplessness. 'What did you expect?', he mutters, before picking up his torch, his form swallowed into the dark corridor leading him back to his chambers.

* * *

_Wake up._

…_. Mother, could I have some more bread, please? I am hungry… This will cost 15 coins and here we go, have a nice day… Why are you coming home this late? I have waited for you all night… Marry me… I hate you! No, let go off me… Rise and shine…_

_Breathe._

Her eyes slam open, breathing ragged. Tiny hammers are drumming into her skull, voices chanting in a discordant chorus; the maddening out-of-tune orchestra ripping through the tangled web of her psyche like a spear through a silky veil.

'Please, get out of my head!'

Gwen takes her head between her hands; she covers buzzing ears with her sweaty palms, willing her fingers to press onto the walls of her skull so she could stop the voices and noise that had been plaguing her peace for the past two days.

'_How old are you Guinevere?'_

'_I will be twenty before the end of this Spring, My Lady'_

'_Please, call me Ethel, I feel old enough as it is'_

'_Then please call me Gwen, Guinevere makes me feel so inadequate, My - … Ethel.'_

'_Thank you. Gwen, you may go through … changes, come your 20__th__ birthday as you will come of age. In the magical realm, powers arise around the thirteenth birthday for girls and during the eighteenth for boys. If they are pure blood, that is. The exceptional ones do not have to wait to that age as they are blessed with their magic since their first breath into this world.'_

'_I suppose it is different for the Sith'_

'_Yes it is. Sith come of age at twenty years old. You should not suffer much, barely go through some headaches when sensing the magical beings for the first time. Supposedly.'_

She tries to calm her panting, moving to crawl out of her bed but a searing pain shoots through her abdomen, a beast lacerating her insides that makes her curl into a ball, hands clenched into fists. The blinding pain causes her body to stiff, unable to move, clawed to her bed.

'_Supposedly?'_

'_Do not worry, all should go well.'_

'_Why not tell her the other part of the 'supposedly', Ethel'_

'_Andraste, I don't believe it is the time yet'_

'_Well, forgive me but I think otherwise. See, my dear Guinevere, we do not know how the change will affect you-'_

'_Andraste, -'_

'_Ethel, please. Let her speak. I wish to know what will happen to me.'_

'_See, she wants to learn… As I said we hope everything will go as smoothly as for the other Sith.'_

'_Why would it be different for me?'_

'_Because, oh sweet Guinevere, you are the only female Sith to ever survive her condition. Sith are not frowned upon only for some pure blood versus half blood dichotomy. You lot truly __**are**__ tainted. Why do you think humans and magic don't meddle together? Sith carry a disease that kills the females at their first menses and weakens the male, rendering them barren. The ultimate weapon to destroy magic and wipe us out of Earth… which is quite ironic considering we are the ones who created it' _

'_Why, how?_'_

'_It is a long story, Gwen. Some hundred years ago, the three realms were akin to one, Earth harboring gates to ease trade and travel between Light, Dark, even Oya. One night, a Queen Witch had to settle her travel party on Earth for a halt and was welcomed by a human king, Aldroenus. Unfortunately the king had this twisted thoughts of grandeur and wished to marry a magical noble rather than a human to ensure an indestructible lineage. In the wake of the Witch's polite but stubborn rebuttal, he forced himself on her with the help of a corrupted wizard.'_

'_If you cannot have the witch, at least have the spawn.'_

'_Lovely Andraste. Truly lovely.'_

'_I call them as I see them, Ethel'_

'_I am sorry but I do not understand how it should concern me'_

The pain burns brighter as the voices turn louder. The deafening sound skews her senses and she thinks she is drowning, the air constricted in her chest rendering her unable to exhale. She feels cold hands tickle the nape of her neck, graze her curls before tightening their hold on her throat, pressing harder with each passing moment. Her eyes widen, mouth agape in search for air. She stumbles out of her bed and crawls to the pantry's drawer.

'_The corrupted wizard used dark magic to bind the Queen Witch to Aldroenus physical demands. Dark magic is a noxious force not even the most skilled goddess could master. Its sole purpose is to consume and leave everything barren and lifeless. The Queen Witch died soon after Aldroenus abuse. The King feared the outcome of his crime and executed her travel party to prevent from any rumor to spread.'_

'_My Gods, this is …'_

'_Sick. Indeed. Little did he know, the Queen Witch had informed our elders of her stay on Earth. They sent a search party to the human lands, their quest leading them to Aldroenus gates. As expected, he lied but the witches sent read his thoughts and had a Nazeer with them to confirm what they already feared.'_

'_What is a Nazeer?'_

'_It is akin to a Seer but with a reverse pattern. A Seer sees what will happen whereas a Nazeer sees what had already happened but only when touching the soil that witnessed the deeds. The elders captured Aldroenus to sentence him to his death on Oya, I will spear you the details-'_

'_It was slow and painful. Precisely what the bastard deserved'_

'_They also cursed Aldroenus lands…but it wasn't enough. Not to their eyes… You have to understand it was the first time a human committed such an awful crime against a magical being, A Queen Witch, at that. I guess we feared if we didn't act firmly, it would be the trigger to many other crimes and the frail balance between the realms would be destroyed… Oya created a jewel, more of a crystal really, that cradled dark magic. They severed it into thirteen rocks placed under the care of thirteen kings with magic, each one protecting his crystal, whom would settle their Kingdoms on Earth and pretend to live as true humans. They would be the bulwarks to ensure the dark poison of the crystals would seep and spread through Earth.'_

'_The crystals are the reason of the disease.'_

'_Yes Gwen. They ensured that every union, might it be agreed upon, between magic and human would be tainted and killed in its womb. The perpetrators would bear a mark, as to easily recognize them and punish them while the offspring will succumb to their curse or be barren. Unfortunately the crystal became a double edged weapon'_

'_Understatement of the ages. I suppose you mean it has become the threat against our survival'_

'_What happened?'_

'_How to explain this?... Earth has, in a way, its own kind of power, only perceivable to us, not to the humans. Nature is your mother, it protects you from evil and nurtures your lands, makes your crops grow, and the seasons pass by. Each crystal had been placed deep into Earth's womb. Its dark magic meddled with Nature's force, altering the power of the jewels.'_

'_Not only does it kill the female Sith, but any magical being touching it loses their powers. Except for the Kings who were entrusted with these rocks. Their lineage is safe from the crystal's harm.'_

'_Forgive me but I still fail to see what part I have in this'_

'_You are the sole female who survived and there is only one way around it. The blood of-'_

'_My mother. She was a goddess.'_

'_You were right Ethel. She isn't as daft as she looks. You are the only Sith with goddess blood, which I guess makes you relevant to this story.'_

She crawls to the pantry, every push of her body on the wooden rug seeming like tiny blades scraping her skin. Her eyes are fixed on the piece of furniture, her sole mean to ease the pain, rendering her oblivious to the scarlet trail her figure leaves on the floor, red staining her white nightgown. She grasps the drawer and pushes it open, rummaging through the contents before she comes against the folded piece of silver cloth. She picks it and opens the folds to find dark green leaves piled up against one another. She picks one and puts it in her mouth, her jaw chewing it to retrieve its soothing juice.

'_What will happen to me then?'_

'_Gwen dear, we cannot say. All we have gathered is something will happen during the menses heralding your 20__th__ birthday and we do not know what it will trigger and the causes on your body.'_

'_I could die'_

'_Perhaps, yes you could… or not'_

'_Gwen, there is no reason for you to die when you have survived the curse. I have brought herbs for you to use lest your condition should worsen.'_

'_What if the effects do not bear any result?'_

'_Then call for me, I will be there to help you go through it.'_

The pain recedes slowly. A cold breeze breathes soothing into her burning limbs while her lower middle relents to the pressure, the beast gnawing at her insides bridled. She shuts her tired orbs, the screaming voices turned to muffled murmurs, little sighs brushing against her mind. She feels a sticky fluid between her legs as her nightgown is soaked and heavy leading her to glance around to see the trails of blood on the rug, a hand placed on her belly, still throbbing. They had warned her of the changes but never told her of the pain. Nor the voices.

* * *

'Arthur… Harder…oh… OH… MY LORD!'

Arthur thrusts like a madman into a writhing Lady Isabelle, who clings to the Royal Prince, overcome by the burning wave of ecstasy flowing through her trembling frame, her blond locks plastered on the mattress. He puts a sweaty palm over the noblewoman's mouth, to silence her moans as he sheathes and unsheathes himself into her body over and over again, pushing harder and deeper into her inner walls, on the brink of his own release.

'Oh gods!', he grunts as he pulls out of her shaking figure and spills his seed onto his royal sheets. He falls on his back beside Lady Isabelle whose breathing is still frayed, his wheat strands sticking to his features. The lady turns to nestle against him, dropping feather light kisses on his chest.

'You should leave. My manservant will come at any moment now', he orders, voice still hoarse from his previous exertions.

'Oh Arthur, you cannot have had enough already, not after this delicious little intercourse. Dismiss him. Those idiot commoners always have a chore waiting for them', Isabelle purrs, her tongue tracing a line on one of the Prince's scars, teeth gently nibbling the moist skin. She stops as he straightens, blue eyes turned grey with annoyance. 'It wasn't a suggestion'.

Her face falls but she quickly replaces the hurt with an inscrutable mask, eyes dripping with anger. 'As you wish, My Lord', comes her equally icy reply. She eases herself out of his mattress, picking her garments. She puts on her clothes and polices her features onto the cold and noble façade she has been trained to harbor in all circumstances. As she puts a hand on the door handle, she turns to a brooding Arthur, 'I strongly advice your Highness to be cautious with his next conquest. You should not let names such as Guinevere slip through your exertions. It is rather not gentlemanly nor adequate for a man of your standing.'

Her narrowed eyes stare with satisfaction as the Prince turns red, taken aback by her accusation, before she opens the door and treads out of his chambers. Arthur heaves a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. _You are one bloody idiot, you know that? Daft_. He climbs out of the bed, puts his breeches on and removes the soiled linens off the mattress, curling them into a ball that he places on the laundry basket.

Merlin barges in, struggling under the weight of the prince's armor, and finds him at his window, surveying the kingdom. Arthur glances at his disapproving features before rolling his eyes, 'I know… I am a cad. The king of cads, I might add.'

Merlin places the armor on the table, and treads toward the Prince, a trifle surprised at his confession, 'Well, indeed you are. I came across Lady Isabelle on my way to your chambers. She had difficulty concealing her distress. You shouldn't play with people's feelings only because you are incapable of expressing yours.'

'Tread carefully, Merlin.'

'Or what? She is not with Lancelot. He left her, remember? And you don't even know if they were together or not?'

The prince turns to his servant, and occasional friend, glaring at him, 'I know what I saw'

'So do I. And it did not mean anything', an equally frustrated Merlin sputters through gritted teeth, 'Even though it did. You have no right to be jealous of him. You said you only asked for her friendship.'

'And it is true-'

'Then there is no reason for all these pouting sessions… and soiling of linens… Except if you are too much of a coward to accept you feel more than friendship toward her'

'Don't be daft. This is Gwen, Morgana's maid. We grew up together…', Arthur leaves his post to head toward the table, inspecting his armor. He lets out a forced laugh as he turns to face Merlin's scrutiny, 'It is merely a fancy… you know, men, women. A fancy I cannot act upon since she is off limits. Morgana's eyes shoot daggers at me every time I dare only glance at her'

'Fancy, my arse', Merlin mutters, unbeknownst to his master. 'Alright, then why are you acting like a pig with all these ladies? You were more subtle in your dealings with them before' The servant goes to sit on the Prince's mattress, a gesture that would have induced a roar of indignation and piece of armor thrown at his head months ago, but now it only elicited a mere shrug from the chamber's owner.

'I cannot say.' Arthur lets out in frustration. He brushes a hand in his silky strands, adding, 'I guess I have realized how much loneliness awaits me as I prepare to be King. It appears there is no one I could trust in this Kingdom. My Father has found love, marrying again… although he was never, well … Morgana has secrets and, to be honest I hardly get to see her, even less discuss with her anymore. Not since her return from the Druids camp. Gwen, well, she is an enigma. One day she has unwavering faith in me, the next she resents my mere presence. And her so called distant family include goddesses from gods know were. The mere fact that I do not arrest her or inform my King is an act of treason. And you, hiding things from everyone-'

'What do you mean? I'm not hiding anything.', Merlin exclaims, too forcefully not to strengthen his suspicions

'Of course not, Merlin. You are barely lucky enough to constantly be in the right place, at the right time. Especially when it involves saving me. As hard as it is to fathom, I am not only made of brawn.'

Merlin nods, his mouth drying as he waits for Arthur's accusation of him being magic or something, anything. He is only met by a tense silence, the Prince of Camelot leaning against his table, as he unsheathes his sword, inspecting the fine work of its blacksmith.

A moment passes, both men lost in their thoughts until Arthur breaks the quieted mood. 'How is she, by the way?'

He doesn't need to say her name as Merlin replies, 'Not well. Honestly, I haven't seen much of her since the rescue. But her friend Mary told me this morning she had been rather sick these past two days. Still working though, you know Gwen… I will stop by her house this evening. You are welcome to join, as her friend and newly appointed guardian.' He cheekily adds.

Arthur rolls his eyes, twirling the blade around his wrist as if the easiest gesture in the world, attesting of his strength and grace in the way of the sword. 'I will meet you in the courtyard after supper.'

'Fair enough.' Merlin hesitates, glancing at his master, 'Her birthday is soon.'

Arthur stops playing with his weapon, in mid twirl, eyebrows raised, prompting Merlin to quickly add, 'I just thought you should know, as her friend.'

'When is it?'

'Ironically enough, it is the day of your father's wedding. Perhaps we could think of a present. Or something special. Knowing Gwen, she would be too engrossed in her chores for the banquet to think of herself'

The Prince nods, eyes still trained on his blade, 'Well, I should be quite engrossed in the preparations as well. Think of something, I will talk with Morgana and make the funds available for it.' He places his sword back into its scabbard, stretching his lean muscles as he stands. Merlin takes it as its intended dismissal, growing aware of his master's moods and wishes thanks to the time spent as his right hand man. He heads to the table and picks the basket, sighing at its soiled contents, 'I suppose I should draw you another bath, My Lord'

Arthur sprawls his frame on the mattress, face nestled in the pillows. 'Indeed. And bring my dinner. I am hungry'

'Yes Sire'. The servant is about to leave when he is stopped by his master's voice, 'Merlin?'

'Yes Arthur?'

'Do you believe she is magic?'

_Which one?_ 'Gwen?'

The Prince turns to lie on his back, head propped under his folded arms, meeting his eyes, 'Yes, Gwen.'

'If you asked me before the rescue, my answer would have been no, but today, I must admit I am at a loss… For what it's worth I don't believe she is.'

'Well, we should hope so'

The young servant frowns at the Prince's reply, 'Magic or not, she will still be Gwen. I trust your view on magic is not as resolute and skewed as that of your King.'

Arthur straightens, sitting cross legged on his mattress, hands playing with the hem of his breeches, as cold eyes stares intently at his manservant, 'If she turns out to be magic … I will do my utmost to protect her. I guess it will be my chance to make amends. I only wish not to engage in another battle of wills with my Father. As flawed a man as he is, he remains my Father and I would resent having to conceal anything of this importance from him… Besides, why should my opinion on magic matter this much to you?', he asks, icy strings lacing his inquiry.

Merlin swallows a thick gulp, seeking to appear as detached as possible, 'I … I-there's no reason. I know you are not your Father, I guess, I just-'

'Assumed. The worst… Not to worry. People tend to do this with me.' Arthur cuts, climbing out of his bed, as he heads to inspect the stack or reports waiting for him on his desk. He turns to a silent Merlin, the arrogant Prince back to erase the glimpses of the young man he had shown earlier, 'I am still waiting for my bath'

'Right away, Sire', Merlin bows and leaves the chambers.

* * *

White cheese and red meat disappear into his mouth, mashed into tiny parcels as he chews on the food. She watches the trail of brown juice trace its moist path onto his chin, quickly wiped by his tongue, licking his lips in the proceedings. She turns to her plate, untouched food beckoning her making her stomach churn, the disgust enhanced by the eating sounds he makes while his hands tear through the roasted chicken they are having for dinner.

'What is it, my child? Is the food not to your liking?' Uther takes a swig of ale before setting the cup down a bit too forcefully on the table, indigo drops staining the rich white cloth lain on the wooden furniture. As if on cue, a servant appears to wipe the spatters, bringing another cup full of the dark red liquid to his master. He curtseys low and reclaims his place in the far corner behind the King.

Morgana shakes her head, raven hair tickling her features, and locks her blue eyes with her guardian's. The King forgets himself a mere moment, lost in the enticing view he had been fortunate to admire since the tall and gangly girl turned into this youthful royal beauty. 'Forgive me my Lord, I have been of rather melancholy humor this past days, I guess it rendered the food unappealing.'

Uther clears his throat, dried by his silent musings, bringing the focus back on the reason of this dinner for two. 'I believe you are wondering about the purpose of this invitation?'

The royal ward wipes her mouth with the napkin brought on with the dishes and turns to her King, 'Indeed. The preparations for your wedding are well underway as I suppose the Lady Catrina must have informed you. It appears she didn't seem to need my helping hand. Nor Arthur's for that matter.'

Uther screws his features in a grimace of annoyance, glaring at his young protégée, 'Do not turn this into another fight over the Lady Catrina, Morgana. You should show more respect to your soon to be Queen'

_This … thing is no Queen of mine_. She had caught on Lady Catrina's deceit early on, sensing her magic since their first encounter with Uther, without discerning _what _she was precisely. Not without the help of Chryseis.

Three months had passed since the Hengist attack, and her magic lessons had turned into a weekly ritual. She honed her powers, pushed her mind onto the brink of her abilities under the watchful eye of her younger mentor who also taught her about the history of their kind, the Light, the Dark, … even Aldroenus. She never mentioned Gorlois or her lineage though. _You will learn of it in due time_, she said.

Morgana had difficulty to forgo her questioning and curiosity. The secrecy tended to make her feel as a pawn between Chryseis hands (she had learned of her name only a week ago, after countless forceful pleas to divulge a part of her character); her fear toward her red eyed and powerful mentor the only barrier impeding her growing frustration to let loose. The list of her grievances only turned longer as Chryseis advised her not to go against the Lady Catrina's ax to grind, the troll's presence offering them the unforeseen help they had been seeking to pursue their purpose.

_Purpose that I am yet to know of_, Morgana bitterly observed, her train of thought rendering her oblivious to Uther's chattering.

'Morgana, some attention to your King would be greatly appreciated!', Uther snaps at his ward's contemplative haze.

'Forgive me, Sire.'

'As I was saying earlier, Catrina and I have been debating… over your future…'

Morgana's orbs widen, anger threatening to overcome the composure she seeks to keep until Uther provides her with an excuse not to. She utters through gritted teeth, an eyebrow raised, 'My future?'

Bracing himself for the impending storm, Uther seeks the words that would prevent from triggering his ward's as well-known as feared wrath. 'Indeed, but Catrina had no genuine … say in our decision. Besides, it is not even a decision per se, it is rather a suggestion-'

'Cut to the chase, Uther'

Her tone contagiously darkens his already piqued mood as he throws caution to the wind and surrenders to his equally famous temper. He shoots an icy stare to his ward, informing in a calculated casual tone, 'You are to be married'

'What?'

He locks eyes with his ward's, as Morgana stands and treads closer to him, eyes glistening with red hot fury. 'You. Are. To be. Married', he states, punctuating each assertion with a cold edge, his tone brooking no argument. 'You are nearing your 26th birthday, an old age for any princess to elope, let alone bear children. I will not allow another year of dilly-dallying. We have already thought of befitting suitors.'

'No. I will not abide it. How can you let this woman dictate your ruling in this kingdom? Be a man, Uther! Let your mind speak instead of your manhood!'

Uther stands suddenly; his chair falling from his outburst while a calloused hand grasps the royal ward's throat. He whispers to her ear, 'I am your King and your liege. You will show me some respect and obey me'.

'I will never obey a gutless coward who is too afraid of his Lady Catrina to speak his mind!', she spats, hoping her features would reflect the despise she felt for him.

His fingers press tighter. 'I have taken you under my care, given you a kingdom and a future ruler to claim, left you to live freely and forgo of Camelot's rules. Only to suffer you ungratefulness. I will not let you undermine my authority. You will obey me, whether you like it or not!'

'No.' She lets out in a strained voice, her breathing turning ragged. She shuts her eyes tight as the King loses himself in the ire fed by his ward's constant challenge, his hands choking her into surrender.

_Do not show him Morgana. Keep it hidden._

_I … I-I can't control it. I can't breathe. _

_Then do not open your eyes. Not before it is over._

She hears Uther's hoarse cry and a window shatter as the warmth wraps her again, releasing her power. The hold on her throat loosens, the sticky touch of his fingers leaving her skin. She kneels down on the floor, coughing, a hand clench to the table for support when sounds of steps, the red capes probably, invade the dining hall.

'My Lord? Your hand!'

She opens her eyes, slowly, her fingers still pressed against the burning scars on her throat, marks of Uther's wrath. The witch is restrained, crouching back into her hidden shelter, letting the human side hold the reins of her psyche. She blinks with the sun's light stabbing her orbs. The fleeting blur subsides to reveal the King's wide eyes trained on his bloody hand. Morgana's eyes turn to Uther's palm, a deep gash cutting his hand open, the blood dripping from the wide wound, red meat and white bone appearing for everyone to see.

Lady Catrina bursts in the hall and runs to Uther, 'My Gods, what happened here?! Call for Gaius! Morgana, what happened?!'. Uther leans on her for support, two red capes helping him settle on his chair. He turns to a petrified Morgana, features the epitome of calm, despite his eyes betraying the fire brewing behind his Kingly mask, 'Leave us'

The ward nods, leans on the table to stand and turns to step out of the hall. As she approaches the door, she stops at his command, 'Your betrothed will arrive soon after the wedding. I advise you to be on your best behavior to welcome your soon to be husband.' She heaves a sigh and pursues her path, not allowing him a glance as she passes by a rushing Gaius, the physician shooting her a questioning look on his way to Uther. When the doors close behind her, she picks her skirts and runs to her chambers, slamming the door shut as she enters to find a startled Gwen.

* * *

'You are having me on, aren't you? Uther is marrying a troll?', Brunhild's snide laughter echoes in the white hall, quickly followed by the sneers from the congregation of vassals gathered in the council room.

'Indeed, Chryseis informed us of the rather incongruous news. I can only imagine how Kilgarrah took it', Aife replies, a smirk tugging at her lips. It quickly falters though as she finishes her report, 'Chryseis will try to use the troll to our advantage although there had been some troubles with Morgana'

Brunhild straightens, frowning at the reveal, 'What kind of trouble?'

'Catrina has Uther under her… its spell. The troll seeks to take Camelot through its union to Uther, and sever the King's ties with his offspring, especially the one most against this union,…'

'Morgana.'

Aife nods, 'It seems Uther has agreed to betroth Morgana to King Vortigern-'

'That hoary old goat! Vortigern would be dying if it wasn't for his physician using magic unbeknownst to him! I thought Uther loved Morgana?' Etna titters, the thought of the young beautiful noble with the old king appalling her.

'But his kingdom is wealthy and disposes of a skilled army that would prove useful in case of a war. Even enchanted, Uther's mind never strays from potential means to more power' Brunhild muses, reverting her attention to Aife, 'What happened?'

'He nearly choked her to death'

Brunhild loses her composure for a moment, life draining out of her features, willed away by the white fire of cold fury spreading through her heart. The council of queens echoes her sentiments through a wave of murmur crashing against their sovereign's silence.

'And then?', comes the High Queen's only reply.

Aife offered a strained smile, 'She nearly cut his hand thanks to her magic… but Chryseis made sure her powers were not revealed.'

The Priestess upturn of her lips is matched by Brunhild's proud smirk, 'Good girl. She needs to learn to defend herself. And what a better opponent than Uther? Still, I suppose her queries are more pressing, especially concerning her lineage.'

'Indeed, Chryseis requests for a permission to divulge more to Morgana or at least offer a gesture that would help strengthen her allegiance to us. She is still easily strayed'

'Yes, Morgana has never been one for patience. Inform Chryseis to stay on her positions. I should send someone soon to ensure her loyalty and Arthur's will be ours. Uther has not been tested enough yet.' Brunhild turns to her council, 'Lady Ametha, send the first troops to Asgard and settle a garrison there. Inform Lord Obadiah of the impending battle so he prepares and forges the remaining alliances needed. We must have all the tunnels and entryways unlocked.'

Lady Ametha stands and bobs a curtsey before replying, 'As you wish My Queen. Permission to ask for Lord Syreth assistance'

'Permission granted. Send 10,000 guards and 300 witches from our lands. The rest will come when we have our entrance to Camelot secured. Set garrisons on the five moieties we have already pointed out. You will be in command assisted by Lady Etna and Lady Agacia. Everything must be ready by the end of summer. Do not disappoint me'

'We will not, My Queen', the sovereigns of the Light rise as one, leaving the council room. Ametha shoots a glance at Aife. Now was their last chance to strike before the inevitable.

* * *

She recoils in the dark corner of her home, knees drawn up to her chest inside the circle of her arms, as she sits on her bed, leaning against the wooden wall. She's curled into a ball, head resting against her knees, steadying her breathing, eyes shut to focus her mind on tuning down the voices whose howls threaten to split her head open.

'_What if the effects do not bear any result?'_

'_Then call for me, I will be there to help you go through it.'_

She didn't know how to call for her. She was not Morgana who understood and embraced any novelty as her own, even less a seasoned secret holder like Merlin. She was a part of the people, the commoners, those with simple lives and paltry demands, oblivious to matters beyond their survival and the glimpses of happiness they could steal from fate from time to time.

She had never been so tired in her life, despite exhaustion always standing as one of the few constants in her existence. She had dragged herself into work, body heavy and belly smarting, the ragged linens she had wrapped around her inner thighs to keep her frock from staining scarlet only rendered her more ill-at-ease, her fluid leaving sticky sanguine marks she had to wash off upon her return home. The voices kept driving her mad, the more crowded the room, the louder the whispers. She had successfully avoided his royal Prince of Camelot but couldn't duck the murmurs about Lady Isabelle's dalliance with his royal highness, his crude and dismissive behavior only adding heartache and disenchantment into the incurable ills pestering her life.

It is as though Camelot had been put under a spell, a dark cloud spreading its grey cloak on the kingdom, rendering the quiet whispers of the awaking Summer muffled in the sneers of the habitants darkened mood. Or was it her view that was embittered, painting her surroundings with multiple shades of grey when the world around her bustled with life?

If so, then she wasn't the only soul wrapped in a sour humor. She was distressed to witness the red marks on Morgana's neck as well as the tears her mistress could not hold when she came barging in her chambers. She had momentarily forgotten her throbbing pain, consoling a shocked Morgana, calming her into slumber while restraining the hatred for Uther fueled by this latest incident. But the voices came back. She couldn't say, she felt privy of conversations she should not have been a silent witness to. She was about to cast them away as part of the maddening whispers that invaded her mind since her ordeal began, when she perceived Morgana's furious cries that set the familiar thread of dread churn her stomach again.

_I want him dead! I would kill him by my own hands if you only let me! … Where should I put these linens, My Lady? … Be wise, Morgana. He deserves the worst punishment for hurting you but you have to tread carefully and think. Never let emotions run over your Reason, you hear me. Never!... I don't understand what Uther sees in this Lady Catrina? … No one knows of her lineage, we do not even know for sure if she is of true blood!… I will not abide his ruling. I will not let him dispose of me like some cattle- … Mary, dear, tell cook to bring us a collation. Supper is still far away … Stop it. Go back to sleep. I will see you tonight… Bring these dresses to the Seamstress, I need the best wardrobe for the banquet…_

She had gazed at her mistress. The royal ward's lips never moved, apart from her crying and furious bellowing. That is when she had the first hint.

She opens her hand, her eyes trained on her palm. A dark green leaf was staring at her. She takes it and puts it in her mouth chewing to calm the ache about to burn her insides, eyes shut tight. She heaves a sigh and pleadingly murmurs the silent mantra she kept breezing through her mind, to will the whispers away, 'Where are you, Ethel ?'

_Gwen? Can you hear me?_

She nearly jumps out of her skin when she hears her warm voice.

_Gwen, just think of your reply and I will hear it._

She glances around out of habit although well aware all of it is in her head. She steadies her breathing into a soothing rhythm and closes her eyes. She focuses on a simple answer to assess whether it is not a trick of her mind.

_Can you hear me, Ethel?_

_Yes, I do._

_Gods, Ethel, I am so glad to hear your voice! Those past days have been awful_

_I know. It seems we were right. The changes were more drastic than I had imagined._

_The pain was hard to bear, if it had not been for your herbs I would not have been able to stand. … And I hear voices in my head… all the time…_

_Voices? ... What voices?_

_I cannot say. I hear people speak in my head. Sometimes they are murmurs but they turn louder the more the people surround me…I even heard the lady Morgana today…_

_Well, this is novel… _

_Novel? …No, it cannot be_

_Well, Guinevere, it seems it already is._

_You said I could only sense them-_

_I was wrong. You might have other powers-_

_I do not want any powers. I only ask for some mere rest. I do not care to be magic, Ethel_

_Guinevere, you are not. Not completely at least_

_Then what am I?_

_I cannot say, Gwen. I cannot fathom it myself. I guess we will have to discover it together as the altering will unfol-_

Knocks tear her from the ghouls storming in her psyche. She stares at the door, her mind still covered by the blur of Ethel's words … no, thoughts. She could hear thoughts, speaking becoming an alternative, an inclination rather than a need. She would have laughed at the irony if she didn't feel so lost and alone. Soft-spoken and reserved Guinevere was offered the ideal and dreamed of weapon of the schemer, conniving and prying her path into people's inner thoughts, the voiceless bearer of their mysteries.

'Gwen, are you there? It is me, Merlin. I came to see how you were.'

Knuckles turn from asking to forcefully demanding as they hit her door, she blinks and finds her voice again, 'Yes, I will be right here, Merlin. Just a minute'

She disentangles her sore limbs from one another, wincing at the dull pain in her weakened muscles. She gathers the hem of her dress in her hands, turning around her back, neck craning to see if it was tainted wine again. She had put on her old servant frock, heavier and thicker that provided with the feeling of safety and cover instead of the richer new ones Morgana had offered for her 19th birthday, a present to alleviate Tom's departure.

She hurries to the door, pulling it open to reveal the gangly fidgeting frame of her friend. Her heart stops when she makes out the features of the Prince of Camelot standing behind his manservant. Their wide eyes, touched with concern, give away how dreadful she might have looked; and to be honest it was only a picture perfect rendition of how she felt inside.

'Merlin, Sire! What brings you here?', her voice is too bright, her smile forced as she stands on the threshold of her home, blocking the way into her simple shelter.

Arthur frowns, eyes roving her tired features and drained cheeks, 'Can we come in?'

'Is it important?', she honestly could not handle their presence now in her home, not with Merlin eliciting searing pain through her mind every time she looked at him, a spear running through her skull forcing her to focus on his royal Highness instead, as much as she resented it.

'Yes. Very', the royal order comes carefully swathed in his dry reply. She nods and steps aside, retreating back into her home, her back turned to the entering figures of the two young men. She could feel their eyes burn holes into her skull as she treads by the fire, seeking to busy her hands and her mind. She had been successful enough not to step into the Prince's sphere since the rescue, well aware of the burgeoning questions the nature of her previously illustrious guests had triggered, her efforts however quelled with his visit, vaguely reminding her of their first true interaction. He was flanked with his guards, she was wearing the same frock, flowers scattered aside on the floor near the steely vase.

'Would you like some tea, perhaps?', she lets out in a shaky tone, a tinge out-of-breath, searching for the kettle.

_What is wrong with you, Gwen?_

Merlin's voice echoes through her, flying high over the ocean of bustling whispers successively dying down as each habitant of Camelot goes to sleep. Gwen stops in her tasks, eyes shut. She doesn't need to turn to know that Merlin has not uttered a word.

'No, thank you. We have just had supper. … Although we would like to know what has been plaguing your rest, Guinevere'

'Nothing, My Lord, I am fine', she shakes her head instinctively, still not sparing them any glance

The Prince grows piqued at her stubborn façade and as ever the impatient one, he lets out the first salvo, 'You have never been much of a liar, Guinevere. And you certainly are not fooling anyone now'

As expected his sarcasm does the trick where his concern was dismissed and she turns to face him, arms crossed, repeating in a calm tone, 'As I have just said, My Lord, I am well'.

_No, you are not. You are hiding something. Perhaps Arthur was right, you truly are magic._

She snaps her gaze to Merlin, anger flaring in her chest. She winces when she is met by another blow shooting through her skull, the pain receding slowly as almond orbs are covered by the heaviness of brown eyelids, her soap roughened hand massaging her temple.

'Alright, this is enough. Merlin, go to Gaius and tell him to prepare a sleeping draught for Gwen. I will wait for you here', Arthur orders his manservant who rushes out of the small wooden dwelling to fetch the royal physician, not before casting a wary glance toward the maid. The Prince unties his dark blue cloak and treads toward the table to dispose of it when she speaks, her voice still calm and poised, 'Perhaps My Lord should rather remain with the lady Morgana, she could need all the comfort one could bestow … after what the King did to her.'

Arthur sets the cloak down on the wooden chair, aware of her obvious attempt to dismiss him, 'I have already seen Morgana. She is asleep. And, no Guinevere, you will not get rid of me with much ease. I will stay until I am sure you are safely resting. I made a pledge and I fully intend to keep my word… under any circumstances'

He stares at her intently, the fire in his gaze buoyant with queries that render her unable not to avert her eyes. She nervously wipes her moist hands on the salmon colored apron of her dress and goes to sit heavily on her bed, eyes trained on her slippers.

Her voice comes in a whisper, the scared murmur of a child, 'I suppose you believe I am, that I have…, that I am bewitched, Sire'

He doesn't hide his surprise, nor the tiny stab of hurt, at the wary if not pleading undertones of her question. 'Are you?'

She lifts her eyes, wry smile blossoming on her lips. A soft snort escapes her chest, 'I wish I knew My Lord'

He nods, raking a hand in the silky strands of fair hair turned a darker shade of brown with the flickering candlelight. He approaches slowly and crouches before her. His hands hover over hers, clasped tightly together, before eventually settling on the bed, near each side of her figure, careful not to touch her.

Their eyes are level, his steady breathing sending a breezy caress that cools her skin as he offers her a reassuring smile. He lifts one hand and carefully places it on her forehead, the burgeoning fever setting the upturn of his lips into a tight line, before removing his fingers from her burning skin.

'You have fever, you are due some much needed rest and I will make sure you will be taken care of. That is all that matters, for now'

She exhales some of her worry away, her eyes meeting his, 'Thank you, Sire'. Solace spreads through her limbs and she blinks, staring at him with newfound interest. 'I cannot hear you', she whispers. She didn't hear his inner voice. The whispers had gone away since Merlin's departure and she could finally welcome silence back to lull her into a frail sense of peace.

'Pardon me?', Arthur gazes at her, tiny wrinkles tracing their line on his forehead sharing his confusion

She shakes her head, 'Nothing, Sire'. He is about to speak but decides against it, only offering a mere nod and a frustrated sigh. He stands and sits beside her, hands awkwardly placed on his knees. Gwen drinks the silence like a thirsty animal would guzzle on water, her head lolling forward as slumber overtakes her. She feels Arthur put an arm around her shoulders to prevent her from falling, gently tugging her against him. Her first instinct is to straighten and escape his hold but her body screams against it, exhaustion the victor of this shortly fought battle.

She relaxes against him, her head tucked under the crook of his neck. His body shifts slightly toward her while his arms lock her petite frame in a tighter embrace. She closes her eyes, her breathing falling strangely in sync with his, wrinkling her nose when faint beginnings of a stubble graze the skin of her forehead.

'Are you cold? Do you need anything?'

'Yes, My Lord. Some sleep', she whispers and smiles against him when she feels his snort bubble in his chest before it escapes his lips. She surrenders to torpor's spell, as she falls through the maze of unconsciousness, wondering if she imagined calloused fingers brush her cheek when her psyche is swallowed by pitch black darkness.

Arthur listens to her breathing soften, petite hands balled into little fists against his jacket, her mind wrapped into slumber's warm blanket. The tips of his fingers slowly trace circles on her cheek, trailing down to her chin to softly tip her face up, so it rests against his shoulder, giving him a better view of her features. He gazes at her, his eyes quickly falling to her lips, slightly open. He instinctively licks his own. _Stop it, idiot. This is Gwen_. He silently curses at his conscience and treads his fingers on the outlines of her face, tracing her eyes, touching the tip of her nose, his thumb grazing her lower lip.

Guinevere's loveliness is unsuspecting, warm and unpolished, devoid of any beauty artifice of the court. She cradles warmth and truth, not only in her figure but in her heart and spirit as well. He had grown tired of the women of his kind, all hidden and restrained into a mold that erased their genuine attributes to offer diverse replicas of the same simpering model. Only Morgana had dismissed this diktat, her hunger for freedom and power making her not care about letting bare of her flaws. It was what attracted him to her: the shared dream of liberty, the unruly temper and the lack of fear. They were explosive together, their fire only tamed after intercourse; but their carnal activities had fast become their only haven of peace, their neutral ground to gain strength and calm before the next battle. Until he grew weary of the fights, the shouts and the reconciliations; trapping them into a vicious cycle their sanity begged for them to break free. In the end, Morgana found her place in court, using her charms and wit as weapons to survive in the royal arena, while he prepared for his destiny to rule, their path stretching further apart to cross anew because of Gwen.

She shifts further into his embrace, bringing him back to his senses. Gaius and Merlin should arrive any moment now. He gently lifts her in his arms, smiling as he ducks her flying hands, her body reacting to the shift before reclaiming its place into his chest.

He places her on the bed, reluctantly letting go of her warmth, Gwen curling into a ball, knees drawn up, sound asleep. He goes to pick his cloak and drapes it over her, tucking it around her figure. He leans toward her face, lips a breath away from her skin, and whispers in her ear, 'Sweet dreams, Guinevere', before treading out of her home lest his instinct would damage the fleeting truce he silently agreed upon with the young servant.

The night's chill bites his reddened cheeks as he stands outside of her home, arms crossed and eyes searching for Merlin and Gaius. He doesn't have to wait long before the two come rushing to him, apologizing for their lateness as Uther was still suffering from his hand. _Serves him right_, he thinks bitterly.

'It is alright Gaius, Gwen is asleep, and there is no need to bother her tonight. Just pay her a visit tomorrow to see what has her troubled and report back to me.'

'Yes Sire.' Gaius bobs a curtsey and leaves the Prince and his manservant to regain his quarters. Merlin eyes Arthur warily and is about to speak only to be cut by his master, 'Let's not discuss this Merlin. But yes, she might be.'

The servant nods, shoulders still tense, 'Should I bring your cloak back in the morning?'

Arthur smiles, 'No. Let her bring it back to me', and leaves for the Palace.

* * *

'At least they brought the best ale in the Kingdom. The Gods know, I shall need it to bear through the atrocity of this wedding', Morgana lifts her arms over her head to help Gwen slither the silk down her figure, the silver dress running over the noble woman's body, like a million drops of diamond water, bumping on every curve it embraces to fit her like a second skin, as it glitters from the revealing cleavage down to her gold encrusted slippers.

The maid brings the ruby jewelry to adorn the dress, helping the royal ward with the sterling ribbons and argent cords to tread through her locks in an intricate web of twist and turns that hold the midnight strands in a tight chignon, few rebellious curled tendrils escaping its grasp, swaying freely to frame her features. She is the epitome of a goddess, her power exuding from every pore, magic rendering her more resplendent, ready to steal the bride's thunder.

'You truly are a vision, My Lady. Lady Catrina will be no match'

'Indeed Gwen, I have youth and beauty on my side. My dear step mother's fountain of youth has dried into mere droplets that hopefully will support her through the wedding night', the royal ward snickers at the thought of Uther and the troll intercourse.

Gwen offers a soft smile and starts to pick the discarded linens and clothes of her mistress. The past days have been better, the pain receded as her menses passed, the whispers having become a novel part of her existence she had grown accustomed to. Her nights spent with Ethel's spirit had helped reign over the assaulting thoughts, her aunt teaching her how to tune down the voices, pick the thread of conversations that captured her interest or block the ones she did not want to hear, the latter revealing useful in the presence of Merlin or Morgana lest she would invade their privacy. But the whispers were still there, forming a bedrock of twitter and chatter gurgling through the maze of her mind.

She had also discovered another ability, her sole one tangled with the mind reading as it appeared she wouldn't be blessed with her magical friends' powers, to Ethel's disappointment, only matched by Gwen's relief.

The heavy linen makes the basket handles rasp against her palms as she prepares to take them to the Laundry quarters before reclaiming her place among the army of servants set to tend to Camelot's nobles every need throughout the banquet. 'I shall send these to the Laundry My Lady, but I will be back to attend the feast'

Morgana turns in a twirl of silvery silk and sparkles, 'There is no need Gwen, this can wait until the morning.' She offers her hand to the maid, a coy smile dancing on her features, 'Come here, I have something for you.'

Gwen nods and places the basket on the floor, treading toward her mistress. She slips her hand in Morgana's and follows her unto her antechamber. 'Close your eyes', Morgana whispers, a hint of anticipation in her voice

Gwen frowns, letting out a soft snort of disbelief, 'Morgana?'

'Close your eyes, Gwen. Or it will spoil the surprise', the royal ward shares her maid's laughter, a glint of mischief sparkling her sapphire orbs.

Gwen sighs and shuts her eyes. She hears steps and rummaging, a box is picked as silk and satin crease against Morgana's legs.

'Open you eyes'

Gwen flutters her eyelids open, gasping at the vision unfolding before her. A burgundy dress was dancing in the air treading toward her. It acted as if it dressed an invisible marionette toyed by Morgana's fingers, twirling and flickering magical unseen strings.

'Happy Birthday, Guinevere. I know I have not been the best of friends, let alone mistress. But I hope you will accept it as an apology and a gesture of how much I appreciate how you have born with me throughout these trying times'

The blade of guilt twists in her heart, overwhelmed by her friend's present. 'I cannot believe you remembered', she whispers as she offers tentative steps toward the dress now floating still in the air. A sleeve extends toward her, the invisible hand beckoning her as she laughs in excitement, her fingers grazing the soft velvet of the simple, yet noble cloth.

'I know you resent attention, so I had made something not too fancy, nor revealing but beautiful enough to make you another belle at the ball.'

Gwen's fingers tread near the soft fabric not daring to touch it, lest her worn hands would tear through. The dark red is scintillating; the wine velvet kirtle stands adorned with turquoise bands of satin that encircled the waist up to the chest tying them into a silky corset of intricate stripes ending in knots on each shoulder. The sleeves are puffed carmine silk tied at the elbow by satin ribbons of cyan before falling into a loose wide cascade of crimson. 'It is perfect'.

'I am glad the dress is to your liking. It is the least I could do after you have kept my true nature safe from peering eyes', Morgana smiles, gratitude adding a indigo touch to her blue eyes.

Gwen turns to her mistress, hands clasped back in her apron, the mirth cast away by another onslaught of guilt, tainted with wariness. 'My Lady, there is something I need to tell you.'

Morgana wrinkles her brows, surprised at her maid's change of mood, 'Of course Gwen, whatever it is you can confide in me'

Gwen nods, inhaling a sharp intake of breath to steel herself from the reveal of her own mysteries. 'Have you ever heard of the Sith, My Lady?'

Of all the questions Morgana had envisioned, this was not one she thought she would hear, 'How do _you_ know of the Sith, Gwen?'. Her surprise is perceived as suspicion by her maid who chides herself for being so straightforward and careless. 'People talk' was her cipher reply.

Morgana picks up her royal dress and approaches Gwen. She stops a breath away from her, eyes studying every single move of her maid. 'I do not think many people know of these dangerous half breed mongrels, let alone _talk_ about them', she states pointedly. Her hands cup Gwen's cheeks, cradling her face in their palms, soft thumbs caressing her skin, 'Has any of them hurt you? You can tell me. I will crush them like insects if they dared touch you'

Gwen shies away from Morgana's touch as her hands remove her mistress's from her neck, the intensity of the lady's stare sparkling flames of dread in her belly. She shakes her head, offering a strained smile, 'Oh no My Lady, I have met none of them'

She shuts her eyes briefly and opens her orbs, shooting a firm look at Morgana, 'And they certainly are not half breed mongrels'

Morgana snorts, taken aback by her friend's retort, 'How would someone like you know that, my dear Gwen? I am the one who bears magic, I believe I am a little better informed than the charlatans you might have heard in the lower town. The Sith are a dreadful cursed people'. The words have been out before she could realize their innuendo, wincing internally when she hears her unintended snide tone ring through her chamber's walls.

Gwen does not flinch, her lips recoiling into a wry upturn that conceals the affect of the poisonous blade that has just run through her heart. 'Someone like me would know, My Lady… because I am one of them. I am a Sith, Morgana'

The royal ward's blue orbs turn into wide circles before narrowing in a cold assessing stare, the lady taking two steps backward, looking at her maid as if she was a stranger. 'It cannot be, female Sith do not survive', she mutters, her throat dried by the revelation.

Gwen wrings her hands in worry, 'Well, I did. Forgive me for not telling you before but the changes had taken a toll on me and we have been spending less time together. It was hard to find the right moment-'

'I suppose Merlin knows. Although Arthur doesn't or he would have sent you to the donjons already', Morgana cuts, her features trained into a cold mask, piercing orbs staring at her to dissect her reaction.

Gwen feels panic rise, churning her belly, 'You are the first and only one I have ever told, Morgana. I would never hide anything from you. You know it'.

Her forceful reply rang as a plea in the royal ward's ears, her pride firing a pleased flare of satisfaction in her chest. Her features soften as a warm smile takes tentative dancing steps on her scarlet lips. She heaves a sigh and approaches Gwen, clasping her hands with hers, 'Of course, you wouldn't. I know I can trust you, my dear Gwen. The reveal came as a surprise; that is all. If anything, I shall protect you from any harm and it shall be our secret. Isn't it baffling that we should both be of magic descent? Even though you are not blessed with powers-'

'It appears I have some, My Lady'

Morgana's faltering smile is evanescent before it regains its borrowed brightness but it doesn't escape Gwen. The royal ward raises an eyebrow in genuine surprise, 'Is that so? What can you do, precisely?'

Gwen smiles ruefully, shaking her head, 'Nothing fanciful, My Lady. I hear people thoughts and I seem to be able to learn things faster. I have taken up reading with Anna. She's the wife of the clerk assisting Lord Geoffrey of Monmouth and she was surprised to how fast I am learning.'

Morgana fights the poisonous icy river that threatens to stiffen her heart, as she absent-mindedly runs her hand over Gwen's sleeve, eyes fixed on the stain that dried on her frock. 'Impressive abilities indeed. Reading minds is one I have yet to master. I wonder if you have been reading mine all along' she adds cheekily.

'No, never. I cast your voices away, yours and Merlin's'

'Not Arthur's', she asks, a smirk plastered on her delicate features

'I cannot hear him', Gwen replies, suddenly stiffening, grateful the caramel of her skin could conceal the burgeoning fluster of her cheeks.

'You cannot hear him… well that is a relief, I can only imagine how dreadfully annoying his thoughts could have been. Are you sure you have never heard any of my thoughts?'

She sees Gwen frown and lets out a nervous laugh, 'Do not worry Gwen, I was merely teasing you.' She gazes at her, genuine warmth contagiously softening the frost breeze that had whirled through the chambers, 'I am glad you have told me. You need not fret, I will be here to help you go through the changes.' She heaves a sigh and turns to her present, draping the dress over her arms as she approaches her maid with a coy smile, 'Let's get you dressed and try to enjoy this god-awful banquet. I take it your mind reading power could be perfectly used for our amusement'.

* * *

He wanders, in his glorious Pendragon attire, golden crown and red cape adorning dark blue jacket of velvet and his favorite white shirt, through the crowded hall, bustling with chatter and laughter as nobles of all Albion indulge in food and beverages in honor of King Uther and Queen Catrina. He takes the last swig of ale from his cup, frowning at the bitter taste in his mouth, less due to the red drink than to the alarm bells his instinct kept ringing against this marriage, and his step-mother. A wave of nausea floods through his stomach at the thought of the newly crowned ruler.

He waves for a servant to refill his cup, scanning the room, making the most of these rare moments of peace, free of any flirtatious noble lady seeking to catch his attention. He quickly spots Merlin staring at Lady Catrina in the far end corner. His friend had barged in at the end of the ceremony and seemed grim throughout the banquet, never leaving Gaius's side. He nods to the servant, dismissing him as he takes another taste of the wine, reveling in the burning liquid rasping his throat.

'Here you are, Arthur!', he coughs when Uther pats him on the back, the newlywed King flanked with King Paladin and his daughter, Sonya. _Another of the simpering ones_.

'Meet my son, Arthur, future King of Camelot', Uther turns to his son, 'Arthur, I would like you to meet King Paladin, one of Camelot's oldest ally and his beautiful and charming daughter, Princess Sonya. I hope you will be her company for this banquet'

Sonya bobs a perfect curtsey, fluttering her perfect lashes, with a perfect rosy tinge coloring her perfect ivory skin and whispers in her perfectly melodious voice, 'It is an honor, My Lord', before straightening her perfect figure wrapped in perfect rich clothes. _No doubt she'd utter the perfect scream when perfectly ravished_. He offers a fake smile, bowing in return, 'My Lady' before clasping hands in a firm handshake with King Paladin, an old but still strong man, with a warm smile and sparkling eyes that invite to hedonism and laughter instead of solemnity, 'My Lord'.

'It is an honor to meet you, young man, you are the pride of Camelot and I am pleased to count you as one of the next rulers of Albion.'

'Thank you, Sire'

'Oh, no Sire with me', his booming laughter eases the courteous mood into an intimate one, 'Call me Paladin or uncle, your Father and I are old friends, the last I saw you, you were trying to drive your governess mad'

They all share a laugh, as Sonya sends him a seductive smile, his royal composure preventing him from rolling his eyes. He turns his attention to the room again, searching for familiar faces, _her_ face. He sees Morgana engaged in a vivacious but constantly flirtatious conversation with none other than Sir Leon. He smirks, recognizing the ways she uses to hunt for her preys and catch them in her claws, when his breath catches in his throat. There, was the most appealing vision he had been blessed to witness all night.

His eyes follow Gwen's figure curtsey to Morgana, her plump lips offering a knowing smile to her lady before the maid weaved her path, no, danced and glided through the crowd to go stand behind a pillar, hands clasped around the tankard she is holding. She is wrapped in a burgundy dress laced with light blue satin bands, her female attributes covered but their outlines hinted at by the figure hugging cloth; she wore no jewelry only for the silver cord holding her curls in a lose bun letting unruly locks ruffle her features. She was not perfect. She reminded him of the first fruits that burgeoned in summer, easily found in the forest before being washed, polished and prepared for the court's gluttony. She was a fresh strawberry his lips burned to taste.

He downs his drink in one gulp, turning to his royal visitors. He offers a quick bow and an equally laconic, 'Sire, My Lady, if you would excuse me' before treading toward the object of his attention. He slowly approaches her and stands a few feet behind her, eyes roving her back and falling on the nape of her neck. He treads closer, his face a whisper away from her bun. 'Fancy meeting you here, Guinevere'

She nearly jumps, startled by his voice and turns around, her furious glare cast toward him. 'Sire, I do not believe it is a suitable way to greet a woman, servant or not! I nearly let the tankard slip'.

Her annoyed gaze is met by his cheeky grin, 'Oh but you didn't… Forgive me for scaring you, it was not my intention'

She softens, worrying her lip as she nods. _Stop staring at her lips, you fool. Remember, don't be a cad. Do not. Be. A cad_. He offers a coy smile and lifts his cup, eyebrow raised. She indulges him and pours some more ale to help moist his abraded throat, before meeting his gaze with her own.

'Thank you', he looks at her, darkened sapphire orbs drinking every part of her figure, 'You look lovely tonight', he offers in the dangerously charming velvety tone of his.

Gwen's strained smile falters and she takes a step backward, merely nodding to acknowledge his compliment, her eyes darting toward the crowd in an endeavor to slither away from his focus. He clears his throat and takes another sip at the wine, her distance pouring cold water over the burning fire that she had ignited. He breaks the tense silence in an attempt to ease the constricted air surrounding them, 'I take it you like your birthday present'

Gwen turns to him with a questioning look leading him to point to the dress with a wave of his hand still holding the cup, 'The dress, we bought it for you'

'I thought it was Morgana's present?' she asks befuddled

'Yes, well, it was our idea, she helped have the dress made, Merlin chose the pattern and the material and I helped with everything else. I even chose the color', he adds with a faint snort, before his eyes narrowed, realization dawning on him, 'She said it was her present and her idea, didn't she?'

Her attempt to quell the blooming laughter that bubbled in her chest was answer enough and he cursed under his breath, rolling his eyes, annoyed, 'Honestly, Morgana…'

Gwen snorts, unable to resist the smile tugging its way on her lips, 'It is alright, I am surprised you even knew it was my birthday. Thank you for the present, Sire'

Arthur shrugs, growing tired of the courteous titles she kept sending his way, piling up into a wall to impede his treading closer, 'It is nothing. If it wasn't for Merlin, none of this would have been done'

He glances at her and catches her puzzled look, fast matched by his inquiring one, 'What?... And please, for the love of the Gods, do not say 'Nothing, Sire' '

She shakes her head and replies, 'It is only that I would have never thought I would see the day when Future King Arthur Pendragon would wave off a compliment. I am quite baffled, My Lord'

'So am I', he mutters before taking another gulp. Her constant redrawing of the lines was alluring and refreshing at first as most of the women of the court would gladly seek to cradle a piece of the Prince of Camelot's attention. It was a game he had indulged in as she let him but her unwavering rebuttal was slowly turning grating. Still, he didn't know why.

He searches for other subjects of discussion, well aware if silence fell between them, it would be the perfect chance for her to flee. 'I am still waiting for my cloak, by the way. I would appreciate you gave back what you borrowed'

It did the trick. Her features turned into an annoyed mask as she calmly but firmly states, 'I have brought your cloak to Merlin many times for him to bring back but he said you forbade him to'

'Indeed, I lent it to you, so it is only natural you would be the one to bring it back to me. Common courtesy between friends', he says with a smile waiting for her reaction.

It is not what he had hoped for. She throws him a glance, reverting her focus back to the crowd, 'Forgive me but I do not believe we are friends, Sire'

This stung. He takes another swig and asks, 'Why not?'

She still does not look at him. 'We are not delving in the same sphere, My Lord. Yours are for those destined to rule whereas mine is destined to serv-'

'Pardon me but I thought you believed in common people and nobility leaving together as one, under the same rules, shared rights and duties. I would have never thought of you as reluctant to change, Guinevere. This new world that you are so keen to see unfold with my ruling starts with commoners and nobles meddling together, and yes it also means friendship', he pointedly throws back her words and beliefs at her, eyes burning holes in her temple, forcing her to turn and face him.

'I do believe in change for the better and in, if not equal, at least genuine rights for those who have not. But I will not indulge you with a friendship that will only damage my reputation to slake the whim of a child. I would be hard pressed to find any alleged friends of yours in our sphere of commoners who are male, apart from Merlin, whom is your manservant and general idiot, as you like to call him. I am not one of those courtiers that revel in any scrape of royal attention thrown their way. If you want me, Sire, there is only one way you shall have me, and it is by force', the calm whisper of her voice is akin to the quiet silence heralding a tempest, if it wasn't for her eyes burning with the passion of her convictions and anger at the Prince's carelessness.

His stare turns to a glare, the hurt pride smothering any regret and warning when he lets out in a sneer, 'Do not converse of matters you have not the tiniest shred of an idea of and that you shall _never_ understand. My request for friendship was genuine, devoid of any trick as I do not need them to have what I desire. And it certainly is not you. It was merely to alleviate your loneliness after he abandoned you. He is not coming back. You are _not_ what he sought or he would have stayed'

The hurt in her eyes tells him he has once again gone too far and let his temper rule over his heart. He swallows his remorse as she nods, a wan smile adorning her features when she faces him once more, 'I believe you spoke the truth, Sire. Forgive me, but I should serve your peers, as I am destined to', she doesn't give him a chance to reply as she curtseys and treads through the crowd, the furthest away from him. He sees her talk to a maid and flee the hall in a dash of sooty curls.

'Shit! Shit! Shit! Bloody idiot!', he mutters through gritted teeth, the knuckles holding the cup tight turning white. He wants to tear the room apart, a wave of anger raging through him, this familiar fury that hurts most as he is the sole responsible for it. He downs his drink once more, wishing the liquid could burn his insides.

'Well, that did not seem to have gone well'

He turns to see his Father leaning against the pillar, arms crossed watching him intently. 'Father, how long have you been standing there?'

'Long enough to witness you little game with that servant. I do not understand why you do not just go straight for the kill. The ones like her are easily tamed when bedded'

Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose, 'I believe you had too much to drink, Father, once again. I hope you will not have one of them bedded before your wedding night to our dear Lady Catrina', he snickers at the new Queen's name

Uther straightens and approaches, a finger pointed at him, 'Tread carefully, young man, it is one thing to once more humiliate me and disappoint me in front of everyone, including Paladin and his daughter, for the pursuit of a worthless whore but I will not abide any disrespect toward your Queen', he mutters through gritted teeth

'Or what? What will you do, Father? Choke me to death? What you did to Morgana was abject and thank the gods she defended herself. This is the last time you ever hurt her or gods help me you will know what it will truly mean for me to humiliate you. I would have never thought you would be the kind of man to lay a hand on a woman, let alone on your deceased friend's ward for gods sake!', he lowers his voice as he spots nobles and courtiers turn their focus to yet another row between Father and son. 'As for Guinevere, she is ten times the King you will ever dream to be', he punctuates, anger flaring in his chest.

He is about to leave when a gloved hand catches his elbow, the scent of ale and inebriated breath assaulting his senses, 'Arthur, forgive me. You are right, I have had too much wine. Believe that I deeply regret what I did to Morgana and if you wish to tread to the lesser realm to taste her maid, so be it, who am I to judge?', he cackles nervously, the effects of the wine fogging his mind. 'Go ahead, go have her, you need to enjoy yourself after the distress of the wedding. You will only have to wait until our guest finishes with her, though', he sputters, letting go of the elbow as he heavily leans back against the pillar.

Arthur snaps his gaze toward the King, dread twisting his stomach, 'What? Who is with her?'

Uther shrugs, 'It seems you are not the only one she has wrapped around her finger. Our guest asked for her company so he borrowed her for some mere moment-'

Arthur grabs the King's jacket, seething, 'Where is he?'

Uther frowns, 'Where do you think he is? In the guests' quarters of course… Wait, Arthur, where are you going? ARTHUR!', but the Prince was already out of reach. He rushes through the crowd, spotting Morgana by a pillar, whispering and giggling in Sir Leon's ear. He takes her by the elbow, 'Come with me, Gwen is in danger'

'What? Arthur if this is one of your pranks-'

'My Father's guest will abuse of her if we don't go NOW'

'My Gods, let's go, what are we waiting for?!'

'Leon, watch for my Father, he must not follow us. Do you understand me?'

'Yes, Sire. I will'

Arthur and Morgana dash toward the entrance only to stumble upon Merlin who casts concern eyes at their fear injected orbs. 'What is the matter?', he asks, as Arthur forcefully pushes him aside to run toward the guest quarters, Morgana in tow, her dress gathered in her hands.

'Gwen is in danger!', she manages to say behind her back before rushing to follow Arthur, her steps fast accompanied by the young warlock's.

* * *

Gwen knocks twice on the door she had been sent to. Mary told her a royal guest had asked for his supper to be brought in his quarters as he felt ill at ease. Her mind was still reeling after her bitter encounter with Arthur, her heart aching at his harsh words.

The brooding is set aside when the nobleman opens the door to his chambers, a warm smile dancing on his lips, 'Oh, good evening, my child. Forgive me to have bothered you but I cannot abide the mindless chattering of these gatherings', he offers a charming laugh that contagiously elicits a soft snort from Gwen. 'Where are my manners, please come in.', he steps aside to allow entrance to the young maid who sends him a soft smile before treading to the table to set the tray she had been holding. She places it on the middle of the table, amid papers, and personal effects.

'You look lovely, if all servants in this kingdom were as pretty as you are I shall come back here more often', he teases. 'Can you prepare me a cup of tea, please? I would need it to impede any sleep so I could discuss with Uther afterwards'

'Of course, My Lord. Right away'. Gwen smiles, pleasantly surprised by the lord's gentle manners. She takes up preparing the soothing beverage while the man rummages through his things, 'Oh dear, My Lord makes me feel even older than I already am. Just call me Paladin or uncle.'

A whisper screams through her mind as she is about to bring the scathing drink to Camelot's illustrious visitor.

_This dress just begs to be ripped. Arthur sure has good taste in his whores._

Her throat dries, as she stops her work, the knot of fear threatening to choke her. She seeks to steady her breathing, but her heart thumps louder in her ribcage as she hears Paladin step slowly closer behind her. Her hand curls on the cup of hot water, biding her time until he comes close enough. When the whiff of his breath ruffles her rebellious curl she turns sharply and hurls the scorching contents to his face so she could make a quick dash to the door.

The water hits his jacket, partially burning him as he cries out before grasping her curls just as she had a hand on the door and violently tugging her back into the table. 'You filthy bitch! I will teach you how to behave!'. He locks her in a tight grip and shoves her against the table, Gwen struggling against him, throwing punches and kicking her feet to his but years on the battlefields had rendered him too strong for a petite maid. 'Would you behave?! It shall be quick! So very quick! I hope you are virgin as Uther promised, those are my favorite!', he hisses to her ear, his hands pushing her dress upwards.

He slams her body on the desk, her face hitting the wooden furniture, dank stench and ink scent invading her nostrils when she spots the dagger near her tray. She stretches her hand toward it before he could hurt her, as he fuddles with his breeches. In a desperate move, she pushes further, grabs the dagger and hysterically hits behind her, in three quick strikes. She hears him let out a growl before his hold loosens on her dress, shoved up to her waist. She rushes away from his hold, still holding the dagger, drawn out as a makeshift sword.

Paladin stares at her with wide eyes, his hand pressed against his side, soaked in blood, 'You… you just stabbed me, you worthless tramp!', he roared. He lunges toward her but she sidesteps, running to the table. She takes the kettle and whacks his attacking form on the head, Paladin falling to the floor, unconscious.

Shaking hands let go of the kettle and the dagger, falling to the ground in a clatter of metal. Her whole frame trembles as she stares at the man lying at her feet. Loud bangs on the door startle her, tearing her off this nightmare. 'Gwen, are you there? Open up! This is Arthur Pendragon, OPEN THE BLOODY DOOR, YOU BASTARD!'

'Gwen, OPEN THE DOOR!' she hears Morgana bellowing outside. Her voice brings her back to her senses and she rushes to the door, pulling it open, letting her three friends barge in. She rushes to Morgana and falls in her arms, the royal ward locking her shaking figure in a tight embrace, 'My Gods, Gwen, are you alright, did he …?'

'No, but he almost, he almost hurt me', she lets out in panting, muffled sputters. Her chest was tautened, suffocating under a heavy rock that made her breathing ragged and unsteady, she didn't even have enough strength to summon tears, 'I think I, … I think I killed him'

Arthur crouches before Paladin's body, putting two fingers on the man's pulse points. 'This animal is still breathing. You didn't kill him, although he only deserves to die', he spits.

Merlin interjects, the countless dreadful situations he had previously found himself into provided with the levelheadedness and foresight the hot tempered royals now lacked, 'If Uther learns what happened, Gwen could be in even more danger than she is at the moment'

Arthur turns to glance at Gwen's still trembling figure cradled in Morgana's arms, before heaving a frustrated sigh when meeting the ward's outraged gaze, 'He is right, Morgana. As much as I abhor admitting it, if anything out of the ordinary happens to Paladin, it could lead to war, banishment or Gwen being executed. I believe no-one wishes to put Gwen under more risk than she already has faced'

Morgana stares at the King's body, chest still heaving to attest of his breathing. She turns to place a kiss on Gwen's curls. 'Breathe, Gwen. It is over. You have to breathe', she whispers into her friend's ear. Gwen nods and disentangles from her arms, turning to tread toward the entryway with her back turned to the scenery, eyes trained on the wooden door as she seeks to shift her hiccup breathing into its familiar soothing rhythm.

The royal ward turns to Arthur, still crouched towering over Paladin. The Prince's eyes meet his adopted sister's and his heart freezes at what he sees in her blue orbs. He straightens, his gaze never straying from hers, a shiver tracing down the line of his spine when her voice echoes in the chamber, bereft of warmth and the youthful undertone she sometimes harbored, 'You should bring Gwen back to the feast or Uther will suspect something is up. Merlin and I shall take care of everything'.

'And how shall _Merlin and you_ take care of everything, precisely?', Arthur icily inquires, standing up to his feet, arms crossed, trying to smother the inner voice telling him he already knows the answer to that question.

'You will have to trust me, Arthur'

The Prince is about to refuse when his eyes fall on Gwen, back turned to them, head leaning against the door, as the wooden piece supports her figure wrapped in her arms, still seeking to find her inner peace back. He dismisses his questions with a shake of his head and throws a glance back and forth between Morgana and a silent but clearly scared Merlin, 'Fine, but we have much to discuss after this wedding' He treads toward Gwen, approaching her in slow careful steps and stops before her, leaving some space between them. 'Come, I will take you home'

'No, … I shall go back to the banquet, I cannot leave my post-'

'This is nonsense, Gwen, you were almost-'

Gwen shakes her head forcefully, her eyes fixed on the door handle. She seems out of breath, inhaling in pants as panic rose from her heart when she recites the litany of actions awaiting her, her head nodding at every sentence uttered like a believer would repeat a mantra, 'No, I shall go back to Lady Morgana's chambers, put my servant frock on, go to the wedding, serve the people, and … yes,… I shall serve them and stay quiet… invisible'

'Gwen?', Arthur treads a hand toward her, to tear off the calm hysterical haze her mind is trapped into but the maid jerks away from his touch, taking a step back, eyes pleading. He lifts both hands, placating, and whispers 'Alright, I will not harm you, never. Let me escort you to Morgana's chambers and we shall go back to the wedding'

Gwen nods in a sharp, jittery gesture, arms still wrapped around her frame, throwing him an expectant gaze as unruly curls - detached from her bun with Paladin's violent tug - fall in a dark curtain over her eyes. Arthur takes a few steps back allowing more room between them. She turns to Morgana who offers a reassuring strained smile, matching her mistress encouraging upturn of her lips by another nod and leaves the chamber, her figure retreating in the egress closely followed by the Prince.

The royal ward turns to Merlin, eyes alight when the door clicks shut, 'Now, Merlin, would you help me wipe this hound's memory and heal his wounds?'

Merlin's eyes widen, mouth agape, his mind unable to summon any sound, nor word. Morgana smirks, blue orbs narrowed, 'You did not believe you could keep this away from me, did you?'

'I—I…'

'You, you what? Stop acting like the secret holding, lying idiot you are and put the powers you claim not to have to good use. I have no time for your qualms, not after what this son of a whore did to Gwen'.

She turns to Paladin upon hearing the whimpers heralding his awakening. The King flutters his eyes open, glancing around him before cursing under his breath. Morgana draws near him, she kneels before the befuddled royal, staring at her with wide orbs, 'Lady Morgana, I believe I have been attacked by one of your commoners! Call for Uther, this servant requires some good lashing to learn how to obey and respect their masters'

The Witch offers a fake smile of understanding, treading her fingers toward the King's wound. She suddenly puts her other hand on his mouth as her fingers stab into the open gash of bloodied flesh, lacerating the rosy skin. Paladin howls in agony, features frozen into a terrified mask as his cries are muffled under her hand. The royal ward twist her fingers in the wound like a knife in meat as she whispers into the tortured nobleman's ear, 'You will pay for what you did to her. Mark my words, you shall rue the day you came into this world-'

'Morgana, that is enough! Stop it!', Merlin rushes to them but stops dead when he witnesses the wound burn from the inside. Paladin cries out unable to move, his body imprisoned under the spell's yoke as the witch slowly removes her fingers, the gash burning itself closed, until it is only rendered into a scar, twirls of smoke and the scent of burnt meat the sole recollection of its existence.

Paladin's breathing had turned frayed, trickles of sweat prickling his skin as his mind treads in the web between relief and ache. Merlin gazes at Morgana with horrified eyes only met by her cold amber ones, 'Wipe his memory, Merlin. Do not look at me like that, I know you can do it' she orders.

The warlock turns to Paladin, cupping his face in his shaking hands; he waits for the warmth to flood his body and lighten the fire of his magic. His eyes turn the color of the Sun as he chants the intended spell to the royal guest, the old man's eyes wide as hypnotized until they shut close with the Prince's servant last uttered word. The royal guest's body falls heavily to the ground, chest heaving, his psyche trapped into the magically induced slumber.

Morgana stands towering over a still crouched Merlin who cannot avert his eyes from Paladin. 'Clean the room of any blood spatters and go back to the feast'. She turns her slippers heels back to the entryway, returning to the royal dining hall. She stops at the door, a hand on the knob, her voice calm and poised, 'Oh and Merlin, as much as a protector he is to you, I do not believe telling Gaius of what happened could help any of us, especially Gwen, knowing his privileged ties to Uther'. She opens the chamber's doors and leaves the trembling warlock near Paladin's snoring figure.

* * *

'Thank you for meeting me'

'I did not have much of a choice, did I? Obedience or death… it certainly does not leave much room for dilly-dallying.'

'Where is Uther?'

'Drunk somewhere in the dining hall, entertaining his nobles…'

'… or eagerly awaiting his bride for an unforgettable wedding night. I am curious to how you will manage to get through this required marital task'

'Do not worry, I shall manage. Uther will not touch a single strand of mine. But I suppose our potential intercourse is not the reason the mighty Chryseis has summoned me. I would have never thought the young woman wandering in my castle was the agent of the Light who infiltrated Camelot'

'What can I say? Looks can reveal deceiving. Queen Brunhild would need a favor from you'

'A favor? I do not need to remind you that favor also implies retribution, and my fees can reveal quite expensive.'

'Forgive me; I believe I didn't express myself clearly. I can zap you out of this world in a mere flick of fingers, Uther is the only soul in this castle who does not know _what_ you are, even the not so bright Arthur is not fooled. You do what we ask and we _might_ be considerate enough to help you keep the kingdom you have so forcefully tried to obtain. Is that clearer for you now?'

'What is it you ask of me?'

'We are here for the crystal. Gorlois crystal. I need you to find where Uther has concealed it'

'By the Dark and the trolls kingdom, THE crystal, the one that sank Lyonesse into the seas and brought on the purge?'

'Yes. Uther has it and we need it'

'You do know this jewel is a curse, don't you? I cannot touch it; its magic is too dangerous.'

'Soothe yourself. You shall not have to touch it. I only need to know where it is.'

'But how will you retrieve it? As far as I know, you are not from one of the Founding Families; its magic will harm you as well.'

'Do not worry for me. I have the one who shall take it for me. Just do as I say. I would need the information soon'

'As you wish. I shall send you Jonas to inform you.'

'Very well. Now go back to the feast. I will follow suit'

* * *

The sound of clatter and metal clanging against metal guide him to her new refuge, the haunting silence of her father's forge replaced by the hustling and scurrying sounds of Gwen and her young assistant bringing the atelier back to life. He himself had to admit he has never been so glad to see black smoke and hear the familiar breathing sound of the forge tickle his ears when he woke up this morning.

The Prince stumbles upon Sunhar rushing out of the sky open building, a slew of daggers wrapped in a thick grey cloth under his arms on his way to their delivery. The young boy gasps as he sees the royal Highness, bobbing an awkward curtsey before stammering his acknowledgement to the future heir with a sputtered, 'My Lord'. An amused Arthur waves him off and his eyes follow the boy's retreating form as he dashes toward a merchant's dwelling. He turns and treads forward, beckoned by the sounds of hammer, to find her working on a sword, locks rolled into a hastily made up bun with some curls escaping its hold to sway with the wind as trickles of sweat bead from the tip of her nose, while others trace their path onto the nape of her neck.

A smile tugs at his lips when he recognizes the wool attire covering her figure, the breeches and jacket offering a reminiscence of the first time he truly saw her, in Ealdor. He glances around the forge, waiting for her to sense his presence, each picture of the den his eyes registered triggering a recollection of memories from his childhood he had strived to suppress since Tom's death. He was a young impetuous boy marveled by the blacksmith power, capable of creating his favorite toys only from grey and water, oblivious to the little girl following his father's steps. He smiled at the irony as this little girl has turned into the woman assaulting his every thought.

Gwen stops in her hammering of the iron blade when the drawling whispers in her psyche die down, approaching steps summoning them to quiet threads of mellowed notes. She turns to see the Prince of Camelot studying her surroundings, eyes roaming every parcel of the small atelier until they settle back on her, eliciting a wan smile from him, shooting sparks in her belly. She lets go of her weapon and the hammer to perform a curtsey, with the ritual 'My Lord' before locking eyes with him again.

'Hello Guinevere. Do not mind me, go on with your forging, I was merely passing by.' He gestures for her to resume her task as he goes to lean against the table across from her, beside a gourd and cups lain scattered on the piece of furniture, arms crossed while he studies her bend the metal to its intended form.

They are wrapped in companionable silence, her forging the sword, him watching her work until he lets out the question that had been burning his tongue since his arrival. 'How are you feeling?'. She shoots him a quizzical look before offering a genuine smile, 'I gather you take your role of guardian very much at heart but will you be asking me this question every time we meet, My Lord?'

Arthur rolls his eyes, gifting her with a wry upturn of his lips in return. She heaves a sigh, her stomach twisting in knots, although not from fear, and places her tools on the stool by her side. She removes her gloves to tread toward the table he has been leaning against. She takes one cup and pours water from the jug; offering him the goblet then leans against the table beside him, watching him thank her with a nod and sip at the refreshing liquid. It has been almost a week since the wedding incident, and she had spent them hiding in her house or with Morgana, until she decided taking charge of her life was the best way to leave this nightmare behind her. 'Forgive me for not thanking you for your rescue. If it wasn't for you, gods know what would have happened to me, My Lord'

He shakes his head, taking another sip at the water, 'No need to thank me, I was obnoxious to you earlier that night. I apologize for my behavior during the feast… Besides, you saved yourself from that animal; it was very brave of you'

Gwen shrugs, eyes trained on her worn out boots, stained by grease and soot. Arthur lays the goblet back on the table and heaves a sigh, his gaze running against the tendrils wobbling in the light breeze brought on by the passing cloud covering the Sun. 'I suppose you have learned of the news about Paladin'

She nods, tilting her face up to stare in the distance, tension holding its stranglehold on her limbs. 'Yes. Word says he has been suffering the yoke of a strong fever…'

'That has rendered him unable to move, his consciousness trapped in his body…', Arthur echoes the train of her thought. 'I have to admit I have never heard of such an ailment and the gods know I have come against many a disease and pest when training and travelling through the military garrisons of my Father's army. I can only think of one mean for such an illness to arise so suddenly and it is not of human doing. And I know you would never be this cruel, not even to your attacker'

Gwen turns to meet his questioning eyes. The silent plea for honesty stirs her belly, leaving her trapped between a mistress whose love is demanding, overbearing even but essential to her existence and this Prince whom entered her life unannounced, wreaking havoc in her sheltered dispositions, claiming feelings too dangerous for her to surrender to. 'It is not my place to explain what I have not witnessed, My Lord.'

Arthur smirks to conceal his disappointment, his turn now to cast his gaze off into the distance, 'You must believe my allegiance to the King will make me a pawn between his hands, strong enough to hurt those I care about'

'No, Sire. I believe you deserve honesty and it is not I who should be the tell-tale in this matter. You should find them and ask for answers … although I believe it is fair for them to resent trusting you or any high authority concerning this issue, especially when their lives are at stake.'

Arthur crosses his arms, features darkened as he lets out in a sneer 'Well, thanks to my Father, I shall not wield any authority in this Kingdom any longer. The more he is married to this witch, the more hazardous his ruling becomes. I fear he is putting Camelot in jeopardy only to please this woman's whims'. He watches his foot play with a little rock on the ground, helplessness lying heavy on his shoulders.

She heaves a sigh, clasping her hands to rest on her legs, 'Indeed, the tax raises have taken its toll on the people. I cannot understand… the King knows the harvest has not met the expectations this year, leaving us barely with enough to subsist. The kingdom cannot prosper if its people are not allowed the right to have a good life, to gather means to produce and create wealth. It is the basics for any land to survive!', she forcefully claims, letting bare of her frustration and anger, fueled by her being powerless, to witness the land she called home agonize through greed and stinginess, when mothers could not even feed their children.

She exhales her resentment away and turns to see Prince Arthur watch her tantrum with an amused grin almost distracting her from the admiration she recognizes in his blue eyes sprinkled with a touch of pride, 'Well, that was quite an inspiring discourse, Guinevere. Remind me to appoint you as my counselor if we ever break free from the Lady Catrina's spell.'

She rolls her eyes, sharing his laugh. She sobers when his smile falters, her words truly sinking through him, 'Is this why you opened the forge again? Because you can barely survive with the tax raise? If you are in difficulty, we can help-'

She shakes her head and cuts him from expressing his concern, 'No no My Lord. I am well'. His narrowed eyes lead her to admit, 'I mean, yes, the tax raise weighed in my decision. But it was mostly a catalyst, the nudge I needed to do what I should have done a long time ago'

She turns to study her surroundings, unable to meet his eyes as she steels herself for her confession, 'I … I need to take charge of my own life. Since …, when my Father died, I was a ghost, I drifted through life with no true purpose, I was alone and lost. And then there was Hengist and I thought I would be left to die with these beasts. I thought no one would come-'

'Gwen, no-'

'I know, now I know I have people who care about me but I cannot rely on others to protect me and take care of me every time I should face danger or ache. Before you came to the rescue, I had broken free on my own from Hengist cage and the same with Pa-, … him, during the wedding. There is already a large part of my existence my being a commoner has surrendered to the royalty's whim to rule upon, I will not allow the small parcel of freedom I have to be taken from me… Besides, people seem to need the forge, Sunhar's pay helps his home, I have two other workers who repair carts, forge horse shoes, I can protect myself… As you can see, I am well. Truly, Sire'

Arthur smiles ruefully and it takes all her composure and might not to lose herself in the tenderness seeping from his eyes. 'I am glad to know you are alright… ', he hesitates, swallowing a thick gulp before once more drowning in her almond orbs, 'Your Father would have been proud'.

She nods, averting her eyes, tension creeping back between them to quench the warmth that had instilled in their hearts. Arthur lifts himself from the table and takes a few steps, facing her. He lets out a grumble and claps his hand together to herald his departure, 'Well, I should leave. Merlin and Gaius are awaiting my presence to pursue their plan.'

Gwen frowns, eyebrow raised, 'What plan?'

'Ah, I cannot tell, or I would have to force you into silence', Arthur teases, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. She rolls her eyes, nonplussed and waits, staring at him expectantly. She cannot smother her laugh when he surrenders, 'Alright, alright. They have concocted a plan to help get rid of Catrina and it includes giving me a potion that should send me to the brink of death and back. At least that is what I understood'

It's her turn to straighten and push herself away from the table, approaching him, arms crossed and eyes dripping with apprehension. 'You will not actually die, won't you? Do not do anything foolish that might endanger your life'

Arthur closes some more distance between them, unable to hide the flare of pleasure that sparked in his chest, gathering into a smug smile that lightening his features. 'Guinevere is concerned for me? If I did not know better I would believe this is your way of saying you are worried about me'

She is too close, much too close to him. Especially when he smirks at her like that. 'No, not at all. I mean yes, but like any subject of Camelot would be for their Prince'

He watches her fidget under his amused gaze before striking his favorite weapon he knows will coax her to surrender, 'Guinevere'

She closes her eyes and finally relents, 'Well, yes, you …, well, I have come to care about you…, despite your antics and your being a prat. As I told you before, you are a good man and you will make a great ruler.'

He is still smirking. 'Guinevere likes me'

She rolls her eyes, annoyed, 'Would you stop it? … Please'

This time, his booming laughter melts her last defenses, 'and now Guinevere orders me'

She shoots him a murderous glare that makes him hold up his hands in surrender, 'Alright, I will stop.' He puts a palm on her arm, his free fingers tipping her chin up to face him, 'Everything shall be fine. No need to worry'

Her heart thumps louder in her chest, threatening to burst out as a familiar onslaught of sensations overwhelm her, the world around her fading away, only to leave her eyes locked with his. The words come as a whisper, escaping her lips, 'Just be safe'

He offers a wry smile, sapphire orbs never leaving her deep almond ones, 'I promise'

She shivers when she recognizes the same look he had when he was about to kiss her that day in the cloisters, her stomach familiarly twisting in anticipation when she had been overcome by fear when his fingers grazed her cheek for the first time.

His hand slowly falls to the small of her back, while the other strokes the mass of hair stranded in the bun she made when she woke up in the morning, fingers lost in the labyrinth of thick dark curls. She takes a sharp intake of breath and feels her heart about to combust as the cool breeze of his breath tickles her skin, closing her eyes in hope to taste the lips she had yearned for since her first rebuttal.

She cannot smother the evanescent sigh of disappointment when he deposes a light caress on her forehead, his mouth grazing her skin. His hands travel up to rest on her shoulders, giving them a slight pressure, their eyes meeting once more, 'I must go'.

She nods, her voice too hoarse to elicit any sound. He offers a last smile, brushes a finger on her cheek and turns to leave her forge, his retreating figure disappearing in the city's streets. The whispers bustle back, awaking from their slumber as she stares at the forge's egress, the memory of brazen blond strands swaying in the Summer's cool air unwilling to fade away. _Get a grip Gwen. You know better than to fall for him. Princes are made for Princesses… and you are not one_.

* * *

Merlin rushes through the corridor, chest astringed. He should feel relief: they have successfully destroyed the troll and freed Camelot of its spell. Arthur had even come as close as he ever would to thank him and express his gratitude. Yes, all should be peachy. Fantastic. Stupendously fantastic.

He remembers why he is still scared out of his mind when he reaches her door, bracing himself for the conversation they had not had time to have yet. He summons his bravery and the courage he always managed to show in adversity and knocks on her door.

His knocks are met by steps, but not only from one person, muffled murmurs and the sound of fire crackling. A moment passes before her voice rings in the silence, 'Come in'

He treads into the chambers and closes the door behind him, swallowing thickly at the less than average welcoming glare from Morgana. He offers a curtsey and wills his heart to reclaim a steady rhythm as he greets her with the traditional, but unfamiliar to him, 'My Lady'.

'Merlin. Well, I was about to believe you would never come', she turns her back to him, drawing to the lounging chair, her slender figure falling heavily on the daybed.

'Indeed. I have been quite busy'

'Yes, saving Camelot from the big bad troll with Arthur and Gaius. Quite taxing, I agree.'

Merlin takes a few steps forward, astounded at the witch's prescience, 'How did you …? Well, you could have offered your help'

Morgana turns to look at him, shooting him a puzzled glance as she lazily lies on her lounge, a cascade of turquoise silk caressing the rocky flagstone, 'I do not believe I would have been eagerly welcome.'

Her fingers twirl around her midnight locks and Merlin forces another thick gulp down his anhydrous maw, trying to cast his eyes away from her lying figure, teasing him and mocking his reserved disposition. He clears his throat and trains his blue orbs on his boots. 'I have come to seek your forgiveness, Morgana. Forgive me for not confiding in you when you needed me most. It was selfish from me, especially when I could relate to your suffering and your fears as I had shared them. But I left you alone when I had Gaius to help me find my way through it.'

Morgana straightens, lifting herself into a sitting position to lock eyes with the young warlock. 'Indeed, you abandoned me to my fate Merlin. I only wished for someone to confide into and understand me but you decided otherwise. If it were not for Gwen, I would have never born through all the changes-

Merlin snaps his gaze up toward her, features gathered in a mask of incredulity, eyebrow raised, 'Gwen knew?'

Morgana smirks in satisfaction, 'Yes, she did. It seems you were never the best friend after all. She held my secret and listened to my fears. At least she didn't betray me like you did with the Druids'

'What? I did not betray your trust, I was merely trying to help you'

'By playing bait for Arthur? If it was not for you, they would have never found the camp, Aglain would still be alive and I would learn of my family, the one Uther destroyed!', she couldn't quell the resentment forcing its way out of her heart to render into anger she had difficulty to control.

Merlin recoils into the guilt that had been plaguing him since that day, the reminiscence of her eyes haunting him for months. He hangs his head before muttering, 'I merely wanted to help you, Morgana. As flawed and careless my attempts had been, you must believe that I would never hurt you. Never'

Her icy features falter for a fleeting moment, as she deciphers the tone of his plea but her temper is unable to let go of the grudge her rancor had been feasting on for weeks. She polices her face into a cold façade and lets out in the familiar snide tone she would use to distill despise, 'Touching but it is a little late for remorse. I do not need you anymore, not your help, nor your counsel, not even your friendship. Just leave me alone'

Disappointment creeps up on his face, his eyes reflecting the sadness and loneliness he could not bear any longer but had to settle for. He nods and this time casts a firm look toward the royal ward, 'Fair enough… in that case, there are two things you must know then. Arthur knows about you and I, our powers, he may not say it but he knows.'

'And second?'

'What you did to Paladin was wrong. So very wrong. If you accept to use the same cruelty they have bestowed upon you or your friends then you are no better than them. That is why I am informing you that I will not let you hurt anyone with your magic, especially Arthur.'

Morgana snorts, standing up to her feet. She slowly treads toward the wizard, 'You should not be the one to talk about harm when you have killed countless magical people, _your_ people to save Arthur and Camelot. Do not even think I will let you threaten me', she spits through gritted teeth.

'It is not a threat. It is not even a warning. I am just letting you know that magic comes with duties and responsibilities. It is dangerous to let the powers overcome you and take over your reason. You should be the one to master them, not let them manipulate you. I hope you will one day see me in a better light and trust me enough so we can protect Camelot and Arthur together. Uther is not Camelot and Arthur is _not _his Father'

He bows and turns to leave, his purpose served, back turned to a seething Morgana. He stops in his steps however when he hears her cackle behind him, although he does not turn to face her, unwilling to witness the bitterness seeping from her sneers, 'You do not understand, do you? I do not _care_ about Camelot. I want to break _free_, leave this god awful kingdom and find _my_ people. I wish to go back home among my peers and not live in constant fear. I will never surrender to serve humans who would burn me alive the first chance they get'

He heaves a sigh, fighting the lump in his throat before he replies, 'Then this is where our paths shall sever. I hope you find what you are looking for, Morgana, I truly do'

He opens the door and flees her chambers. Morgana does not move, staring at the door, Merlin's words triggering questions that leave her heavy with self doubt and confusion. She is startled by the sound of hands clapping behind her, appearing out of thin air.

'Oh so touching. Truly, I nearly cried. It is a pity Emrys was not so sentimental when he murdered countless of wizards and witches for Uther's sake.'

Morgana shuts her eyes, standing still, not sparing Chryseis a glance. 'He did it for Arthur, not Uther', she lets out in a weary murmur.

'There were other ways for that.' The red-eyed woman spits. 'At least, he spared me the effort of killing that troll'

The royal ward turns to face her young mentor, 'I thought you wanted the troll to help us.'

Chryseis offers her a tight smile, her blood colored orbs piercing through her protégée's soul, 'that thing gave me what I needed. It was of no use anymore'

'Like you might dispose of me when my purpose will be served?'

'Perhaps', Chryseis's laughter bubbles in her chest, sending rippling waves through the royal chambers when the witch sees Morgana's eyes widen in fear, 'Do not be silly, Morgana. You are too important for us to kill you. As long as you are not that annoying wimpy, prying little woman who feels oh so lost and alone, we shall be fine', her mentor lets out in a snicker.

'I am no wimpy woman', Morgana icily replies

Chryseis smirks, nonplussed, 'Oh really? Could have fooled me. You are not reliable yet. You are a child who is used to have her way. You need to show far more composure than that to even imagine being part of the Light. We are warriors, not spoiled princesses. Is that clear?'

The royal ward flinches under the red-eyed woman's piqued gaze, her mentor's features devoid of any indulgence, nor understanding. She nods, 'Yes'

'Perfect. Could you now tell me why you cursed King Paladin?', Chryseis flickers her hand conjuring a crystal glass of ale and a chair. She falls with a content sigh on the seat, soaking her lips with the scarlet beverage.

Morgana treads toward her bed and sits on her mattress across from an awaiting Chryseis. 'He tried to rape Gwen, my friend. Thankfully, she fought him back but he was stabbed and when we arrived, Arthur, Merlin and I, he was unconscious.'

'So you had to heal him and make him forget not to arouse any attention or questions?'

'Yes.'

'This does not tell me why you cast a spell on him. Such a cruel one, at that'

'I wanted to ensure he would never do that to any other woman. I could not let him get away from his crimes. He had to pay'

Chryseis smiles, surprising Morgana with its warmth and the tinge of pride she perceived, 'Good. You are learning.' Her mentor sips at her wine, reveling in every drop of liquid, as she licks her lips and tilts her head upward to meet the royal ward's gaze. 'Does Arthur know of your powers?',

Morgana shakes her head, 'No… well, not yet. I believe he is suspecting for Merlin and I. I do not think he knows about Gwen'

Chryseis frowns, downs her wine and casts away her glass in a wave of hand, the goblet fading away. 'Gwen has powers?'

Morgana shrugs, 'Not quite. She can read minds and learn things faster' She hesitates, pondering whether she should reveal Gwen's true nature.

'…And?'

The dark haired beauty meets the Light's witch inquiring gaze, 'What?'

'I want you to tell me what is the nature of Gwen', Chryseis orders matter-of-factly, eyes incandescent.

'She is a Sith', the royal ward lets out in a whisper

'Female Sith do not survive', Chryseis objects

'Well, she did', Morgana retorts, annoyed at her mentor's dismissive tone.

Chryseis remains silent, eyebrows knit. A moment passes by, as silence is only broken by the sound of their breathing. 'Very well. I believe you should rest. When I come back, I will tell you of your mission. Good night, Morgana'

'Good night.' The ward's locks sway in the ghouls of wind blown by her teacher's disappearance, silence draping its veil over her quarters. The sun's last gleaming tickle her features before dying down, swallowed by the horizon, leaving her figure alone in darkness, her whispers echoing in the empty chamber.


	5. Chapter 5

**So back from the dead, with an update. This installment is really long so I cut it into several chapters. As always hope you enjoy :)**

* * *

He can feel them.

The burning needles spearing through his ankles, flames gnawing his feet…he feels them.

Acrid smoke sears his nostrils. He inhales more whiffs of scorching mist, tangled with flavors of burning meat… his.

Binds cut through his wrists, blood drying out into sticky red marks scarring his aging skin. He is drowning in a fog of blurry faces, evanescent grey walls dancing around him.

He cannot cough, he cannot scream, he is only paralyzed as agony creeps through each limb of his being, his mouth wide open betraying the absence of sound … only for the howls of incandescent specters closing in on him, heralds of his demise.

They say you don't have time to feel your body burn as the noxious smoke would have smothered you to unending silence… Bloody fools. If he could he would curse at them, sneer at this congregation of ignorants who romanticize and rationalize that very day. The fateful day they would also fall to the hands of the undiscerning wrath of Uther Pendragon.

He knows he's slowly drifting away when flying incandescent wraiths swirl around him. Vultures. Nameless banshees growing ever more near his terrified features. Their screams pierce his ears, bleeding them dry. Dissonant notes come together … they chant, they call for him, ugly sirens welcoming the rotten souls, reaping the poisoned seeds that have tainted the land until the land could bear them no longer, summoning the spirits to take them back.

They chant, and he weeps. They chant his story, his eulogy

_Come, to your last resort, come, oh brother and son, _

_Severed and divided you shall return whole, let the two become one_

_Come and retell to your people how it feels_

_The agony to suffer through your deeds_

_Come to your last haven… you… murderer … oh brother and son_

The scent of death is overcome by the putrid stench of piss, ochre fluids trailing down his legs while salty streams soak his creased cheeks.

He knows he deserves it but not this way. No… it shouldn't have happened like that. His fate forsaken to the hands of Aredian, despicable criminal that even Uther could not stop in his crusade for vengeance. Or perhaps he did not want to.

He silently, desperately, hysterically begs for mercy, to be released from these flames chewing up reason, pride and spirit only to let bare of his first and foremost condition of mortal. An animal twisting and squiggling, bellowing his will to survive to a carnivore audience denying him just that, a voyeur crowd feeding on the spectacle of death like vampires would blissfully guzzle on torrents of flowing blood.

Thoughts have become useless; principles are rendered obsolete when all rationality is occluded by the sensation of burning, when scorching blades flay his skin, when molten hands tear through the cage of flesh and bones

He can't see them.

Uther has cowardly fled the scene, unable to face the consequence of his acts, he can feel Morgana's cold stare behind the glass of her chamber's windows, her rancor demanding a slow and painful death but he can't see them.

Merlin …Gwen, not even Arthur. They have left him behind. Alone, to play the role of sacrificial lamb when all his existence, he had been everything but innocent. He had been called every name, but vestal was never one of them. The echo of Kilgarrah's laughter comes to ripple through his mind as the irony strikes him.

_For all that you have done, you were punished for what you have not._

He hates them… loathes them all. He prays he will be there again, the day his own spirit, his own siren would witness them wither away and die into the very flames that consume him now …all of them … Camelot, its people and that gods forsaken dragon!

He cannot hold onto the last whirls of air forcing their way out of his chest, his soul on their trail, about to leave the soon to be empty vessel that had held it captive for so long.

Damp eyelids fall on his reddened orbs.

He surrenders at last, heavy body slithering down against the pole, eyes closed, head down, hands bound.

That is when a shout tears through the silence of the execution: 'STOP!'

* * *

A WEEK EARLIER

She awakes to green leaves and dark earth. Her blond locks are littered on the ground, gold striking against beryl when her alabaster skin is tickled by the end of spring moss, covering Asgard's woods in its pine color.

She sighs as she lies on her stomach, her naked figure aching under the weight of Syreth's dark body covering hers, the warlord's features hidden into her shoulder blades. She winces as her breasts grind against the ground, little branches scraping her fair flesh, when she seeks to stretch and prod Syreth for room to move. He holds her tighter in response, pinning her to the spot.

Her eye catches purple shades on her wrist, the makings of a bruise, remnants of their exertions. The forest is strangely calm after echoing her moans and screams when he had held her in place while he roughly claimed her on the ground, giving into the need to pacify their desire and hunger. The marks will fade eventually, just like the others, along with those she left on him. Syreth has never been one to be gentle but she had never been fragile either, the very reason a chance encounter of carnal pleasure has ripened into something dangerously akin to love.

She can feel him free his mind of slumber's hold. His chest rubs against her back, hands travel down her arms to her waist and he whispers into her ear, 'Still first to wake up, I see'.

She smiles against the grass, her red orbs studying tiny water droplets of morning dew. A feather light kiss finds its way on her cheek before he buries his face in her hair.

'We should go back to the castle; they must be waiting for us to end the mission', Ametha props her head on her folded arms, inhaling the soft scent of morning,

Syreth groans, the tip of his nose caressing her back, 'Still no word from your contact?'

'No, Aife told me she would call for me soon but nothing since we arrived. Time is running out, Obadiah has closed the last deals with the remaining rogue fiefdoms … and most of the garrisons are set in the five moieties chosen to launch the attack.'

She shivers at the wind stroking her figure when Syreth lifts himself off of her to lie on his back, eyes focused on the blue sky.

'And we have to go and unleash the Pythus…', he adds and grimaces, an arm covering his eyes, 'The Gods know I abhor descending to the Dark, everything there is corrupt and rotten, … decayed and rancid. I knew she hated Uther but I never thought she would go as far as let this beast wreak havoc Earth. No one deserves this kind of death … not even those humans'

Ametha nestles into his chest, surrendering to the need of his body heat. She tucks her head in the crook of his neck, releasing in a sigh, "From what Aife agreed to reveal to me, Uther committed an awful crime against her. She had been planning her vengeance ever since. He destroyed her lands and she wants them back…"

'But not without making him pay'

She nods, eyes lost in the distance, 'Not without making him pay… She hates Camelot and wants to see it burn into the ground.'

The witch lets out a snort, a wan smile adorning her features, 'If you think about it, it would be striking two birds with one stone, satisfying her need for revenge and make an example for her future rule… forbid the humans from ever nurturing the idea of rebellion'

'Silly humans, wherever there is one, there is bound to be rebellion. Dissent courses through their veins. They divide, that is what they do. There is no hope for this tug of war to end with those beings', Syreth spits, letting his despise for the mere mortals loose

Ametha slings a leg over his waist, a hand tracing circles on his chest, 'You cannot blame them really. Every species that faced a more evolved one has fought for its survival. We are the breathing recollection for them of their fleeting condition of mortal and prey. They know our mere existence will eventually lead to their extinction; it is only understandable they seek to wipe us out first, before we proceed to remove them from Earth. Those are the ways of Nature and Fate'

'Well Fate has quite quaint ways of proceeding. I still cannot believe our hope of peace remains in the hands of a powerless Sith…'

Ametha smiles, 'I think Fate is of playful nature and unfortunately for us, we are the pawns to its game.' She straightens, eyes locking with Syreth's before she moves to straddle him. The morning sun conjures a golden halo around her puzzled features, as she studies the angles of her lover's face, 'Why did you accept to help if you did not believe in the Sith?'

Syreth smirks, his body adjusting to her position, larges hands placed on her hips, 'Don't ask questions you already know the answers to. It tends to belie the tales hailing your renowned foresight'

The smug upturn of his lips is met by her annoyed version, 'We should leave'

It's his time to straighten, his right hand travelling to the small of her back to impede her movement as his features creep closer to hers, 'Indeed we should …but not yet'.

Her smile disappears in his devouring kiss.

* * *

A trembling hand brushes midnight strands. She feels dread coil into the pit of her stomach, spreading into a bedrock of unease since Aredian's arrival the night before. Her eyes catch the blue reflection in the mirror and her heart steadies a bit at the shared wariness it exudes.

"Do not worry Gwen. There is no evidence to link any magical claim to us. Aredian will leave as quickly as he has come to Camelot"

Gwen nods but her intended smile is rendered into a grimace by memories of slimy reeks, iron shackles, and cold bars. She can still hear the fidgeting sound of rats looking for food in the night, the rodents' scraping fast replaced by the screeching wheels of a cart carrying his lifeless body, scurvy linen hastily thrown on him to cover the remnants of dignity, on the route to the burial.

Morgana's hands clasp her own, bringing her back to the cold reality of her dimly lit chambers. The royal ward stands from her seat and presses her palms on the maid's shoulders, her eyes searching hers. "It will not happen again Gwen, I promise I will protect you".

She cannot quell the spark of annoyance that stung her heart at Morgana's words, growing tired of her mistress treating her like a child, a fragile wallflower to be cared for and looked upon, her cosset she enjoys to coddle. It isn't long though before she mentally chides herself for letting those thoughts permeate the veil of goodwill guarding her love for her lady.

She manages to offer Morgana a genuine smile, "I know I have nothing to fear with you by my side, My Lady. Do not mind me; those are merely unwanted memories that surfaced back. I thought I buried them a long time ago but it seems they were still there all along".

Morgana brushes a hand on her cheek, tormented blue eyes making Gwen question if her mistress is not the one more preoccupied by the bounty hunter's arrival than she should be.

The noblewoman's features suddenly darken, warmth shedding off of her orbs, "I would not be surprised if Merlin had a hand in this", she spits.

She draws her figure to the window, sparks of teal escaping her fingers as she snaps them continuously in a nervous gesture.

Gwen approaches her lady, pressing a shoulder against the cold stone wall, near the windowsill as she also glances at Camelot's streets. Spring was preparing to give way to Summer but it seemed Aredian's arrival had spelled doom and gloom over the city, rain showering the streets in a never-ending downpour akin to those brought during the lifeless times of Fall.

She turns to Morgana, surprised if not intrigued at the witch's words, "Why would you think Merlin played a part in this?"

Morgana snorts, not sparing her any glance. The blue sparks alter into amber bolts of bridled lightning that set Gwen on edge. She was growing more ill at ease every time her mistress used her powers; the unearthly force shrouding Morgana's mind in a strange haze… a state of hypnoses, if not silent hysteria that made Gwen all the more wary when she was the reluctant witness to the lady's magic. The ward finally locks eyes with her commoner friend, a smirk tracing its way on her cherry lips, "Don't play coy Gwen, I am sure you must know by now"

Gwen shrugs, reverting her focus back to the courtyard and its damp flagstone, "I had some inkling but no true evidence… although things are clearer now'"

"I am rather surprised he never told you…Gwen… the alleged best friend".

The maid closes her eyes. She feels Morgana's piercing gaze dig through her temples. The snap of the ward's fingers meddles with the thrum from the raindrops on the window…crackling sparks of electricity join the randomly arranged tune that comes to ruffle the familiar chorus of whispers in her mind.

She offers another wave of shoulders, marking her indifference, only to provide with a noncommittal, "He must have had his reasons not to".

Morgana raises an eyebrow, amused at her friend's denial, "Indeed, not trusting you … or me for that matter, being one of those so called reasons, I presume".

The royal ward locks eyes again with her maid's hurt ones. Morgana offers a genuine smile, "This makes me even more grateful to have you by my side, Gwen…"

She gives a pause; letting her sentence linger in her thoughts. Her eyes are momentarily lured by the last amber touches of sunset stabbing their way through the deforming crystal of her window.

"You are the only reason I am still here, Gwen, waiting for everything planned out to unfold".

Morgana's gaze turns distant; her fingers trace the rainy tears running down the glass. She snorts, shoulders sagging through nervous laughter, the sound of her borrowed mirth rendered into a dissonant cacophony to Gwen's ears.

"The gods know waiting is not in my nature, it is rather akin to torture, really. But yet, here I am, constantly ordered around and waiting … for you to make a choice".

Gwen frowns, puzzled at her mistress cipher words. Morgana's expectant gaze sinks deep into her, eyes alternatively alight, coated with sheen of gold dust, and reverting back to their original shades of aquamarine. The maid shakes her head, fear drying out her throat, rendering her thoughts into sputtered droplets of words, "Morgana, I don't-…what choice do I have to make?... And why would you leave?"

The witch studies her for a moment, her lips gathered in a wry curve. She flickers her fingers and a ball of light appears in her palm only to fade away with a turn of her hand.

"You ought to stop hiding under your false pretense of modesty, Gwen. It does get rather tiring after awhile"

Morgana leaves her post to tread by her bed, easing herself on the mattress, eyes still glued to her hands, such fragile fingers the bearers of infinite power. _Your most treasured possession_.

Gwen turns to her mistress; hands clenched tight, her mind weaving a path through intertwined threads of bustling murmurs and crowd of faces to delve into the stream of recent memories, in hope to find a meaning to Morgana's bitter words. To no avail.

"My Lady, I swear I do not fathom what you are trying to say. There is no need to be cryptic when in my presenc-".

She stills, realization flashing in her mind, "You saw something… you dreamt about me…"

"Yes I did… it was rather puzzling, to say the least"

Gwen frowns, "What did you see?"

Morgana straightens and pulls her back off of the mattress, reverting into a sitting position, legs dangling from the edge of the piece of furniture. Nothing seeps from her features, no warmth, not even coldness; only an assessing stare, gauging her maid before revealing the nature of her dreams.

"I saw you in fine clothes, royal clothes; acknowledge a crowd …the very gesture of a Queen."

The ward lifts herself from the bed to tread near a frozen Gwen, "I saw you lie, betray and bring war through our lands."

The royal beauty eventually stops right before her companion, her purple silk draping over the maid's trite slippers, "And I saw you come up against a choice that would determine your future …shape the world to come… and you chose to leave me behind."

"No", Gwen forcefully shakes her head, the drumming of panic in stride to that of her heart, "That I do not believe. I could never abandon you, Morgana. You know it … why do you keep testing my allegiance in every word I say? Why can't you trust me?"

"Because trust is not set in stone! … It is not a law or a treaty! …It is the frailest of binds, something I have no ruling over … And I hate having to question the true nature of your heart but I cannot help it…Not with _him_ swirling around you like a vulture, a beast ready to attack!",

Morgana's eyes lit again, frustration building through her. The newfound inability to believe any of her friend's words had begun chewing her up inside like a disease gaining more ground against her reason, infecting her sanity and the rationality of her judgment, more and more, every single day.

Gwen steps forward, her turn to attempt at instilling some much needed peace in her lady's mind. "Nothing shall happen. I know you try to hide your fear of Aredian but you are the royal ward, he cannot touch you. As cruel as he is, Uther will never let him harm you in any way. You know that"

Morgana rakes an annoyed hand through her locks, sighing heavily in hope to exhale away some of the anger setting her chest astringed. "You do not understand, Gwen. I do not fear _Aredian_, I could destroy him without moving the smallest of fingers."

She closes her eyes, a snort shedding off the sense of despondency swathing her sour mood

"I see myself burn every night. Even before Aredian's arrival. I wake up soaked in sweat, feet still stinging from flames I believed to consume me. I could feel the fire, smell the rotten meat, hear the sneers of the people. They called me Filth and kept laughing while I died…I fear what shall happen to me the longer I stay under Uther's rule, here in Camelot, not what an insect like Aredian could do. He is the one _you_, powerless commoners, should fear."

Gwen waves off her mistress jibe to offer a reassuring smile, hoping to convey her empathy and squelch her lady's fears, "I am sorry, My Lady, I did not know you were in such distress"

Morgana turns away from her, treading toward her table, "How would you know? You were too busy frolicking with the Crowned Prince to even notice."

She stills, wishing she could take back her words, the urge made stronger with the tense silence draping over them. She turns back to face her friend and unwilling victim of her sour dispositions

"Gwen... I … I did not mean to say that…"

Morgana falls heavily on the nearby chair, features buried in her hands, She heaves a weary sigh, her voice strangely poised and calm, belying her prostrate state.

"I fear I am loosing my mind. Those powers… they make me… I can't feel anything but spite. I am driving everyone away and I cannot help it. I cannot sleep … most nights but when I do… I see demise and solitude in every dream I make."

She runs another hand over her features, gaze lost in a horizon only she could see. A snicker escapes her lips, "Perhaps it is better this way, you tend to hurt less people when you are truly alone."

'Morgana… no!', Gwen rushes to her friend, kneeling before her, hands clenching her lady's delicate ones, as Morgana stares at their fingers, intertwined.

She can witness distance seep from her mistress gaze, when her brown orbs meet the royal darkened shade of blue, for the first time making her feel estranged to the raven haired woman she had grown up with. "You are not alone, my sole place in this life is by your side, and nothing shall change this."

Gwen cradles Morgana's face between her hands, thumbs stroking the fair skin "You must believe me and stop second guessing my every word. I am not your enemy, Morgana, so stop seeing me like one… I beg you"

"You would never abandon me, would you? Not even for Arthur?"

"Morgana … Why would I ever chose Arthur over y-… I mean, we're not even-"

"Just answer me, Gwen!"

"No, never… I swear"

Morgana nods, "'Then nothing shall happen"

Gwen offers a soothing smile, repeating their mantra, "Nothing shall happen".

The ward takes Gwen's hands into her own palms, easing them off of her features to place a soft kiss on her maid's roughened knuckles, flavors of soap and soot invading the fair skinned woman's nostrils. She lays a cheek on their joined hands; her eyes studying for a moment the rain hit the crystal of her window.

She meets Gwen's eyes again, appeased anew, a wan curve molding her lips, "I hear the forge is doing quite well. The royal blacksmith has even complained about losing customers"

Gwen lets out a giggle, shaking her head, her soft snort shedding into a modest upturn of her lips. It doesn't however erase the proud glint in her eyes, "Indeed, My Lady. I cannot complain."

Her smile turns more rueful, although a touch wistful, "I must confess I miss our sparring lessons. The mere times I lift a sword are when I am forging one."

"'Well, the mere times I lift a sword, it is with my mind", Morgana replies, mischief dancing in her eyes, "But you are right, we have been spending an awful lot of time apart. Order needs to be restored."

Gwen's relieved laughter is cut short by knocking sounds, cutting through the relaxed atmosphere in the royal chambers.

Both women stand, Gwen treading backwards to place herself behind Morgana, as her mistress invites the intruder into the room, "Come in".

A young guard timidly enters, eyes darting between the window and the rocky floor. He bows and delivers the message intended to the royal ward, "My Lady, the King requests your presence at once in the King's Hall."

Morgana curses under her breath, before dismissing the guard, "Tell his majesty I will be there right away"

The guard doesn't leave though. Morgana heaves an annoyed sigh and asks in a cutting tone, "Anything else?"

"Indeed, My Lady, the King asks for the presence of your maid as well."

Both women exchange a worried glance before Morgana steps forward toward the guard.

"'Is there someone else in the King's Hall with his Majesty?", Morgana asks, already knowing the answer to her inquiry.

"Yes, My Lady, Prince Arthur and Lord Aredian are discussing with the King as they wait for your arrival."

Morgana shuts her eyes, briefly. "So it has begun"', she lets out in a faint whisper, however heard loud and clear by her maid. She clears her throat, the guard locking eyes with her for the first time since his arrival, "Tell the King, Gwen and I are on our way"

"Yes, My Lady", the guard bows as a departing gesture and leaves the chambers.

Morgana turns to an anxious Gwen. She extends her hand toward the maid, as Gwen treads closer, slithering her brown palm in her mistress's fair one. Morgana offers a strong squeeze, her fingers rubbing against her friend's.

"Remember Gwen, nothing shall happen".

* * *

"His Majesty, Prince Arthur", the large iron doors of the King's hall open to invite in Camelot's heir, treading into the outstretched space. He stops a few feet away from the King's throne, Uther taking a swig of ale while in deep conversation with Aredian.

He bows and makes his presence felt thanks to a half hearted, "You asked for me, Sire?".

Uther straightens, casting a not so impressed glance at his son, "Indeed, thank you for allowing us a part of your oh so precious time. We are truly indebted", he bites, glaring at his offspring.

"You were called as I shall request your help for Aredian's mission", he adds, matter-of-factly, "our guest has set a list of people that need to be questioned and I want you to arrest those who will be found guilty"

Arthur frowns, "If any of them turns out to be guilty, that is … which would also require a fair trial…"

Aredian smirks, "A fair trial for sorcerers? Your Father was right, indeed. You seem to have quite a naïve streak in you, young man. Perhaps it is wiser not to allow tempting but otherwise silly ideals fool you. You are destined to become the greatest of warlords, not a man of spirit-"

"A true ruler cannot content himself on fighting skills. Military force may win wars but it is the men of spirit who reign on prosper and peaceful lands… Although I guess a mere bounty hunter could not be privy to the attributes and demands of a future King, could he? A word of advice, keep to your level of expertise and all shall be well… and _never_ address me as you would a child or a person with a weak mind." Arthur casts a contemptuous glare toward Aredian, his cool posture strengthened by how softly he uttered his threat, the soothing whisper of his voice belying how piqued he was at Aredian's words.

"True words of a King to be. Forgive me My Lord for forgetting myself", Aredian offers a bow as sign of peace while Uther studies the scene unfolding before him with genuine interest. His silence and unusual distance makes the Prince's instinct ring alarm bells, screaming for Arthur not to lose the demure façade he has learned to harbor in company of his Father.

At long last, Uther speaks, "Aredian's choice of words was unfortunate indeed but he is right on one thing: these suspects are not people, they are not commoners, they are magic and evil, and there is no fair trial allowed to these creatures"

Aredian nods, advocating his case, "Sorcerers shouldn't be tried, they need to be wiped out … and may the gods help me, they will be"

"Besides, destroying magic has never fazed you in any way until now. I wonder what changed your vision to render you so reluctant to destroy this dangerous force. Or perhaps it is a matter of _who_ changed you…", Uther drawls, his brows however knit as he focuses on pulling off his leather gloves, finger by finger, letting his son squirm under the thinly veiled innuendo his inquiry brought out.

"I guess it is what they call becoming a man. As a future ruler, I try not to let my emotions impede my judgment. Logic is the surest way to impartial justice. You of all people should know how easily a blinded king can reveal a tyrant. I believe it was the first lesson you bestowed when preparing me for my forthcoming duty", Arthur pointedly stares at Uther's features still focused on his gloves, patiently waiting until his Father meets his eyes.

Uther merely offers a smile before striking back, "Truly impressive. I see your dalliance with Morgana has at least taught you to deflect attention. You haven't answered my query but no matter, we shall not wait too long for it to come."

The Prince is about to object when the doors open once more, this time to reveal Morgana and Gwen enter the King's Hall. Both women stop before their liege, the ward set in a posture of defiance while her maid stares at the floor, head bowed, hands wringed in her apron, a few feet away from her royal company.

Arthur turns to meet Uther's faint smile. The King raises an eyebrow, waiting for a reaction. The fair haired man averts his eyes and goes to stand by Morgana, closing Aredian's view of Gwen, arms crossed, his expectant gaze waiting for his Father's first move

"You asked to see us, My Lord?". Morgana sends the first salvo in an icy tone, thickening the tension that had already crept in the room. The ward strategically closes the distance with Arthur, both of them creating a makeshift shield removing Gwen from their ruler's attention.

Uther nods, his gesture more as to acknowledge the young royals silent warning than the ward's spoken inquiry. He does not answer though, carefully removing the remnant of leather covering his palms. His eyes are cast toward Morgana although she feels as though his stare was piercing right through her to reach its true destination.

The King watches as both women squirm, feigning to be unaware of his son's glare until both gloves are effectively removed. Morgana is about to repeat her question when he raises a hand in sign of silence, revealing a black and ashen scar cutting his palm in half.

"I believe you might have heard of the troublesome events of these last few days. They are the reason why I requested Lord Aredian's expertise. He has come to help Camelot remove the filth threatening to lead the Kingdom to its end. Our guest has set a list of people he would like to question, in order to find the traitor hiding in my court. It appears some of those prime suspects are close to your vicinity, namely Arthur's manservant and your maid."

Both royal youngsters exchange a glance. Arthur's fingers thrum under the need to squeeze a familiar caramel palm, so he could distill some much needed reassurance. He is surprised to hear the calm tone with which Morgana answers Uther's carefully swathed strike, revealing a mature and tricky side born out of novelty to the young impetuous force of nature he used to dally with. "May we learn on what evidence Lord Aredian grounds his suspicions toward Merlin and Gwen?"

Aredian turns to the King, who nods in response, before treading toward the young royals. "Well, we have witnesses who undoubtedly identified Merlin on the scene of the crime and your maid's past with witchcraft is known throughout the lan-"

"For which she was proved innocent by a fair trial", Arthur counters, seething.

"Thanks to miraculous last minute evidence that has yet to convince me was not brought by her abilities. And it is rather peculiar that not much long after, her father was found guilty of sorcery and treason!-"

"He was never found guilty; he was executed on mere suspicions!" Morgana spits out, cutting the mercenary's expose. Aredian steps forward, his gaze never leaving Gwen's features. Her head remains bowed, face hidden under curled tendrils.

The maid closes her eyes as she feels the hunter's stare stab through her walls. She lets the chorus of voices scream in full force through her psyche, tuning up the sound of whispers to drape over the insults, accusations and venom invading the King's hall. The loud buzzing shrouds her, creating a bubble no sneer could burst. Her mind wanders off the constricted room, leaving the royals decide on her fate, like they would trade an animal, since she is not seen as a human being.

Despite Morgana's fierce rebuttal, Aredian doesn't let go, "His attempt to escape proved his guilt. But that is not all… Do I need to remind you what happened to Paladin after he returned to his kingdom … while he has been said to have enjoyed this woman?"

"Alright, this is enough!", Arthur orders, stepping forward to stop Aredian from approaching an immobile Gwen.

"And let's not even talk about the rumors with other nobles of the court, close to the Crowned Prince-"

"I. Said. Enough"

Both men's eyes are level, Arthur seeking to control the rage burning inside him "One more word, and I will make you rue the day you stepped foot in this Kingdom"

Aredian returns the prince's glare with a condescending one, a patronizing smirk adorning his features. His gaze reverts back to a prostrate Gwen, intrigued by the woman's silence that is thwarting his tactics. He finally lets out, voice filled with bile and contempt, "In other lands, she would have been burnt by now"

The sound of his surprised cry ripples through the hall after Arthur's fist meets Aredian's face. The force of the blow makes the mercenary fall to his knees, hitting the cold flagstone. He casts a satisfied smile at Arthur, one hand on the ground to steady himself, while the other cradles his jaw, blood dripping from his nose.

Silence falls through the room only for the ragged breathing of Aredian, who straightens and takes a step back from the enraged Prince, everyone stunned by the young man's outburst. Gwen's gaze darts between Uther and his son, fearing Arthur's lack of control would not only cost him dearly but make her the side victim of the King's anger.

She cannot quell her surprise when she hears Uther laugh; a booming giggle that elicits puzzled looks from his audience. When the hilarity fades, he claps his hands, shaking his head. He eventually stops to send an icy glare toward the bemused crowd.

"Arthur, Arthur, Arthur… you never learn, do you? How many girls do I have to take care of, how many childish whims of yours should I witness? How many times do I have to warn you so you will understand?"

Uther stands, treading toward his fair haired son, mirth and amusement vanishing from his features only to leave anger and something akin to resentment. He stops a breath away from his sole heir, hard eyes stabbing into blue ones, making the brazen Prince falter in his certitudes

"I truly hope you had no idea, not even an inkling to the identity of the traitor. I did not lose my Father, lose my wife and lose the time that I spent making this Kingdom what it is… _my home_ what it is, to see it run to the ground by a careless child. How can you- … I did not bring you up like that… Not to witness such disgraceful behaviour"

"Why so surprised when I am merely following in my Father's steps? You are not one to talk of disgrace. At least I never forced myself on anyone to let go of my pain.", Arthur spits through gritted teeth, stepping forward to meet his Father's eyes head on.

"You _will_ get in line, whether you will be kicking and screaming and rebelling, you will follow my rule. Your mother died to let you live. Try at least to honor her sacrifice since you cannot honor yourself, nor her memory."

The Prince's features falter. Uther's words were another spiteful spear the King enjoyed shoving into his son's pride … one too many, for his taste. A sure way to shut him up when cajoling and patience have run their course.

He clenches his jaw until it hurts, a salty taste stinging his tongue, soaking his lips red. He didn't care; he would rather feel that physical pain than to endure the humiliation his Father put him through.

True, he knew Uther only saw the reason the love of his life died every time he looked at him. Over the years, he has learned to accept it, live through with it to become the man he is now. But the King's spoken admission of this simple fact had reopened wounds he had spent years to render into scars.

Uther turns to Aredian, still nursing his bleeding nose, "Take the maid to questioning at once, I want a culprit by the end of the week"

"Right away Sire" Aredian bows and treads toward Gwen. Morgana is about to protest when she is stilled by Uther's cold tone "One more word from you Morgana, and I will have your maid, and all the other suspects executed at once. I don't believe you would be careless enough to risk having blood on your hands".

Morgana balls her hands into fists to smother her anger and glares at Uther. She turns to see Gwen taken by Aredian and two other guards to the questioning room, helplessness stinging her blue eyes as the maid's sooty curls disappear out of the King's hall doors.

A tense silence drapes over the room like a heavy blanket, so thick it made Morgana's heart thump for air. She glances at Arthur who remained silent, as though his mind was fogged by Uther's words, not even registering Gwen's departure.

The King turns to his son, heaving a weary sigh. He sheds off the mask of the Ruler to embrace that of the benevolent Father. He puts a hand on his son's shoulder, presses his fingers against the velvet cloth of the Prince's jacket. His voice is now a protective murmur to soothe the ire and hurt of his one and only child.

"I know you hate me, and hate what I do. But, trust me, in the end, you will thank me. It may be hard to fathom but I am doing this for you. It is for your own good, son. Being King is about making difficult choices. As long as I live, I will never let you put the Kingdom and its-…your future in jeopardy. Not for anyone. I am protecting you, from the other ones, the evil ones … and from yourself."

Uther holds Arthur's face in his palms in a firm grip, making the Prince meet his eyes, urging him to understand, "You are a good son, Arthur, but you do not have the guts to rule. Not yet. You will always be a moving target for the Kingdom's resentment, anger … people will betray you, seek to make the best of their acquaintances with you, exploit every opportunity to revel in the power you hold. Do not expect from your subjects to love you or understand. They won't. Remember what I taught you: Fear is a much stronger bind than love. Greatness goes hand in hand with loneliness... And you shall be the greatest of all Pendragon Kings, Arthur, you have it in you. Accept your destiny and stop fighting it with your constant rebellion and dalliances into the commoner realm. It is not your world, it never was and it never will be. This is _your_ heritage, from thousands of years in the Pendragon line, whether you like it or not… so make yourself worth it"

Arthur offers a wan smile, bitterness allowing frozen thistles to sting his heart, "I only asked to be treated like a son rather than a bothering nuisance … a muppet at your disposal to carry the leaden grudges that consume you"

Uther screws his face into a grimace, releasing his heir's features. He takes a step back averting his eyes. He eventually meets Arthur's sparkling blue orbs once more, annoyed at resurging feelings he never truly wished to have, "I make no claims of being a good Father. I am far from perfect but unfortunately you do not get to choose. You learn to make the most of what the gods bestow on you. You might be my son but you are also a subject to the King, you ought to obey my rule and my decisions, try not to forget it"

He adds, as Arthur's jaw set at his words, "But it doesn't mean I feel no affection for you"

He turns to glance at Morgana, silent witness to the Father and son intimate discussion, "Both of you". The earnest confession melts her brewing rage, shoulders slumping as she turns her gaze into the distance.

The Prince's features soften, a façade to the ribbons of sadness lacing his heart, torn between his love for his Father, his duty to the King and the duty to himself, his principles and ideals he fears he might have to let go of to embrace his destiny of Ruler of Camelot.

He shakes his head and offers a bow before Uther, "My men are waiting for me, Sire".

Uther nods in response.

"I still need to speak to you, Morgana", he however orders as the ward is about to leave the Hall in the Prince's tow.

Arthur stops in his steps and glances worriedly at his Father, not too keen on letting Morgana alone with the King, especially after the incident that occurred while the Kingdom was bound under the troll's spell.

His hesitancy ripens into unease when Uther speaks, "You can leave us, Arthur. I need to discuss with Morgana … alone"

The Prince looks back and forth between the King and his ward. He raises an eyebrow at Morgana, a silent offer to remain by her side lest their Ruler would find difficulty in reining over his temper.

Morgana responds with a reassuring smile, a slight shake of her head urging him to go back to his knights. He doesn't move though.

"Arthur?", Uther's tone grows impatient at the thorn of his son's defiance nagging his authority.

The Prince turns to the King, "Forgive me Sire but I would rather stay"

"I beg your pardon?" Uther lets out through gritted teeth.

"Arthur, you can leave. There is no need for you to remain here", Morgana cuts Arthur's reply short, unwilling to let the tension fester into another row. Too much was at stake. Gwen' life was at Uther's mercy.

As to coax the Prince's departure, Morgana treads toward him, stopping a breath away from his figure to put an appeasing hand on his chest, prompting him to look at her. Her tone is firm, although rendered into murmurs as not to let Uther into their discussion, "He will not hurt me. Go. I can take care of myself"

Arthur frowns, unconvinced, "So you think. I don't believ-"

"'Gwen is being questioned by Aredian, the gods know what he is putting her through. Since I cannot leave, I would rather a person of authority would monitor him lest he takes it too far with her", Morgana cuts icily. Arthur heaves a frustrated sigh, glaring at the king's stubborn ward. Too stubborn for her own good.

An amused smirk and blue eyes rolling in mock annoyance are her sole response. She cradles his face between her hands, thumbs stroking his features, before placing a soft kiss on his cheek.

"Go", she orders matter-of-factly before turning to face an awaiting Uther.

Arthur locks eyes with his Father, both men staring at each other.

"Do not touch her", the younger warlord warns, tone brooking no argument, strong enough to startle the fearful and make the fearless pay heed.

He waits for the King's response but the words never come. So he presses a reassuring palm against Morgana's arm, turns his heels and walks away, his silhouette vanishing in the hall's egress.

Cold silence reclaims its place in the royal room. That is until the King casts it away again, a sneer escaping his lips, "It is rather amusing he should fear for your safety when it is I who suffered at your hands"

The King strokes his injured palm, rubbing the outlines of his would-be scar. Instead, a black slit cuts through pale calloused skin. Even the several weeks passed had not managed to close the wound. The open gash seemed to dry out, only leaving charred dark meat. A mark of death tracing an ashen line on his hand.

"How so? If I recall well, I was the unwilling victim of your fit of madness", Morgana calmly replies, her stiffened stance attesting of her heightened guard.

Uther's features harden, his steps drawing him toward the ward. He stops when her breath comes to brush against his chin, Morgana's cagey gaze never leaving his. His eyes fall on fading red marks adorning each sides of her throat. He lifts his hands to touch them, his fingers caressing the memories of his outburst against her. Roughened palms cup the nape of her neck as he meets her gaze again.

"Those marks are of my making… rest assured I blame myself everyday for this"

Morgana nods, recognizing the apology in his eyes, although unable to will away the fear spreading through her veins. But it was no time to be brave, nor bold … she ought to be careful, subtle and compliant. Play dead until the upper hand becomes hers.

She nods once more, offering a strained smile, "The only one to be blamed is that troll. It played with your mind and cursed you into becoming someone else"

Uther shakes his head, his thumbs stroking the middle line of her throat, the spot where the Adam's apple would have carved her flesh if she had been male… A small smile tugs at his lips; thank the gods she had not.

A shiver runs along Morgana's spine, the royal ward unable to figure out his next move, he who used to be so open and transparent to her. Before.

"Indeed, it was as though my mind was trapped in a maze I could not escape…I suppose I should blame my scar on that filthy creature as well. Only magic could render my hand deadened, despite the blood coursing through its palm"

She cannot suppress the gulp that forces its way through her throat, running against Uther's thumbs, as the King watches her intently, eyebrow raised, "What I cannot fathom though is why Aredian would ask to question you as well?"

She polices her features into a contemptuous smirk, meeting his assessing gaze head on, "I would not know My Lord. I pride myself in not delving into the realm of despicable mercenaries and common bandits … unlike you. I wonder if I should feel disappointed or angry at your poorly concealed accusation. There was a time you would have never questioned my loyalties. I am pained to see those days are gone. You have become easy to sway, Uther"

The King snickers, his snort turns into a booming laughter before quickly fading away, leaving only a fond smile on his lips. His hands leave her throat, to her relief, only to cradle her face, thumbs rubbing her cheeks.

"My beautiful Morgana, I am the one pained … that you would think so little of me. Of course I ordered Aredian not to question you. I nearly threw him out of the Kingdom for having such insulting thoughts. You would never betray me … not with your maid living here in Camelot, under my rules."

Morgana returns his smile with a coy version of her own. She whispers, eyes pleading, "You do know Gwen is innocent, do you not? You know Aredian is only looking to add notches to his belt, justice may be damned. I ask of you not to put her in harm's way."

Uther's features alter into an impassive mask at her words.

She takes his injured hand from her cheek, her fingers opening his palm. She places a trail of soft kisses all along the blackened line of his wound before locking eyes with his again.

"Please, My King. I beg you"

Uther remains silent, watching her delicate fingers caress his palm, trace the outlines of his mark, as he feels her eyes studying him.

"Will you behave?", he eventually asks, meeting her blue orbs.

Morgana nods, heaving a sigh, "Yes, My Lord. No more defiance, no more tantrums. I will do anything you ask of me. I swear"

"I shall think about it then", he lets out, satisfied.

He steps closer, engulfing her in his arms, his features buried in her locks. He feels a surge of energy jut through his hardened soul as he inhales the scent of youth and life, beauty and the endless promise of possibility.

"I am glad we have put these awful times past us. You know I cannot bear the thought of you being angry at me", he whispers in relief, against her ear.

"I am glad as well, My Lord", Morgana quietly responds.

The King releases her from his embrace, and places a tender kiss on her forehead, "Very well, then. I shall see you for supper."

The ward offers a curtsey as sole reply before the King turns to leave the hall, his steps echoing in the wide room.

Morgana's hands massage her temples, in need of soothing. She felt weak, powerless … and sullied.

Her body itched for a bath, water, soap, to feel clean again. Uther would not harm Gwen, she knew it now. He would just use her friend to keep her, the ward, the constant voice of dissent, in check, at his disposal. Under a leash. Just like Arthur. If not worse.

She felt sick all of a sudden. Yes. She needed a bath.


	6. Chapter 6

Rain taps angrily against the window, claiming his attention. His eyes witness the town's people rush to their homes as another chilly shower pours over the Kingdom.

_So much for Summer_.

"Some tea, Merlin?"

He jerks his head back into the room, nodding. A grateful smile adorns his lips when Gaius brings him a scalding mug, warming the tip of his fingers while the sweet aromas of his beverage spin the tales of the lands they come from.

"Why is it taking so long? He was not that long with me", the warlock hisses, unable to rein on the tension churning his belly.

A quick look at Gaius's grim features doesn't help quell the building feeling of dread. The physician takes a long sip at his cup, seemingly mulling over a suitable answer, a reassuring answer.

"I cannot say. I cannot even understand why they are questioning her in the first place. After all she has been through ... and Tom. There is nothing to link her to this incident. Why would Aredian put her among the suspects?"

"This is all my fault, I should have been more careful". Merlin buries his head in his palms, heaving a despondent sigh.

"Well, you _were_ … careless, but it is your age to be so. Trust me, there is nothing you could have done to prevent Aredian from targeting Gwen. When his mind is set, it is almost impossible to stop him... especially when it comes to magic."

The young warlock lifts his head to look at Gaius. Memories of their previous encounter with the Bounty Hunter in the streets of Camelot rushed through his mind. It wasn't the knowing glances both elders had exchanged that bothered him, but the sharp sense of unfinished business between the two coming back to the surface, leaving him intrigued. One look at Gaius though prevented him from asking the questions that this brief meeting had sparked.

The now more auspicious features of his guardian could offer a better opportunity he would be damned not to grasp.

"You seem to know Aredian quite well, Gaius"

The royal physician groans, taking another sip at his cooled off beverage.

"Yes, we share a past together... we used to work together many years back but our paths severed a long time ago"

"Not on the best of terms, it seems... your reunion wasn't quite warm, if I recall correctly", Merlin presses on, prodding a confession from his guardian.

Gaius shrugs, bringing their two cups to the kitchen and taking up washing the spoiled dishes. He stays silent for a moment. Merlin's eyes don't leave him, both well aware of the feel of expectancy filling the room.

His voice betrays a tinge of resignation when he finally speaks, his back turned to Merlin, "Aredian and I had ... somewhat diverging views about magic. He abhorred it to its core. Way more than Uther"

"I would have never thought such a thing possible", Merlin snorts, puzzled

"Well, it is indeed. He played a key part during the purge. During the killings of magical beings. He was cruel and ruthless... and … well, I guess we didn't see eye to eye on certain things. Too many differences to ignore.", Gaius shakes his head, "but no matter. The important thing is to save Gwen and yourself from his claws."

"Well, if Gwen's questioning is anything like mine, we shall need all the help we could get", Merlin snickers

"Was it that bad?"

Merlin meets Gaius eyes, recalling Aredian's hard features the first time he laid eyes on him:

"His mind was already set … even before he met me. It was like he knew I had done it, he only had to prove it to Uther. And you are right, he _is_ ruthless. I fear he has his mind set on Gwen as well."

Gaius nods, eyes lured by the ray of sunshine, golden arrows tearing their way through the dark clouds that set permanent residence over Camelot.

"Indeed, her past will be used against her. But something tells me Gwen is more resourceful than we might think."

He treads toward his young protégé, putting a hand on Merlin's shoulder in reassurance, "If anything, we will make sure she won't suffer from Aredian's attacks alone. Both of you"

Merlin nods, offering a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

Both men sit at the table waiting for the news of Gwen's release.

* * *

_At the same time in Asgard._

"Here you are. You almost had us waiting".

Ametha is welcomed by the clipped tone of Lady Etna. She enters the Hall of the castle to find Lord Obadiah, Lady Agacia and Etna in a small congregation, discussing the ax to grind in the up coming war.

They all bow to greet her arrival apart from Etna, her hard eyes staring at her, arms crossed.

Ametha treads toward them, features policed into an impassive mask. She stops before them and turns to Obadiah. "Forgive my late arrival, My Lord. Some loose ends to tie up"

"No need for an apology My Lady, I am your Queen's servant in this endeavor, and by her orders, yours as well"

Ametha only offers a tight smile to Asgard's new king before casting her eyes on the maps of Albion displayed on the Hall's table. She doesn't spare Etna any glance, purposely turning to her other companion.

"Agacia. Report, please"

"The last alliances have been made. Camlann's kingdom also agreed although reluctantly. The King has rather high demands concerning the retribution for their help. Hengist has sent his men scout around Camelot and prepare the ground. He asks if the smuggling of the girls will be put on hold during the preparations. If not he would need more time as his manpower would be reduced. We have somewhat been late in the forging of weapons, but all should be ready in two months. We only await for the news of the Pythus being successfully released, My Lady"

"Thank you. We will descend to the Dark right after this meeting. As for the girls, tell him he is allowed no more than an additional week to send them to Erythrea. He must pass through the Druids camp as we will not be able to come and collect them ourselves."

"Yes, My Lady"

"Anything else?", Ametha asks, studying the maps.

King Obadaiah is first to answer as he steps toward the table, pointing to five dots surrounding Camelot.

"50 000 men should arrive in 4 weeks. The supplies have been stored and we have counted for 10 000 archers. The militiamen should be enough to fend off the caltrops and crossbows. We have received the reports from the scouts sent to the 5 Kingdoms of Logress, Sarras, Mercia, Northumbira and Caerleon. From all, we are digging a direct route to the sewers of Camelot and the sources for water supply. There is also the giant cavern on which the castle sits that could be used to send troops from within the Kingdom. Although we would have one detail that needs to be taken care of if we might enter through this gate, -"

"Kilgarrah"

"Precisely, My Lady".

Ametha nods, brows knit before pointing to the larger area surrounding the field of attack, "Have all the gates been accounted for?"

"Yes, My Lady, each one of them has been marked so to be easy to spot. We have sent a two men team to each point, one magic, one human. They will send a daily report until we are set to strike. As you asked"

"The gates shall be sealed at the same time, just before the attack. A signal will be sent to all the scouts to proceed with the severing. We will leave a cavalry as a back-up for the scouts while the first Archers will attack the Kingdom.", Ametha orders.

The pieces were coming together.

As a child brought up between battlefields and armies, shrouded in the benevolent tutoring of warrior queens, the preparations for war should have offered the familiar vapid taste of habit.

But not to Ametha.

The workings of a strategy, the placing of the pawns, the need to account for every decision, never leaving Fate any chance to fester with the developed plans, allowing room to adapt to any contingency … she could still sense the thrill of this ever changing ritual, shooting sparks to liven her weary soul.

Every battle fought is a learning experience. Not only one has to study the enemy, learn of its ways, even embrace them sometimes so to destroy them with more ease. But she also learned of the unique bond between brothers and sisters of arms. How to trust enough not to hesitate to give your life to fight by their side. To find peace in the very definition of chaos.

Once upon a time, she reveled in this feeling of anticipation until she realized her existence was not exclusively bound to death and violence. She decided her world would no longer be reduced to the clash of metal striking against metal, the howls of flames burning entire cities nor the cries of tortured prisoners. No more. Or perhaps, not only.

"Very well. We shall meet in a week. Let us all hope the Pythus would be released by then", she states in a dismissing gesture

The King and lady Agacia both bow before exiting the hall, only to leave Ametha still studying the maps. She could sense Etna's eyes boring through the back of her head.

A moment passes, both women stubbornly set in their stance, Ametha paying her counterpart no heed.

"You are truly foolish to believe this will go unnoticed"

She heaves an irritated sigh, straightening to turn sharply and meet Etna's gaze, "And pray tell, _what_ should go unnoticed?", she bites

Her hard eyes are met by a contemptuous smirk. Etna steps closer, hands fisted into balls and eyes incandescent, "Your little frolicking… in this time of war. No wonder, you were never ready for this. _**I **_should be the one leading this mission. As your older sister, _**I **_should be the one giving your orders not scurrying around like a mere soldier!"

"Half sister," Ametha corrects, "only when it suits your purpose. The other times I am only the bastard"

"Well that is what we call those from filthy adultery unions, is it not?"

"Your shortcomings, sweet sister. Not mine. I did not ask for this. It was Brunhild's wish and you know she cannot be denied", the younger lady lets out, exasperated.

"Was Syreth Brunhild's wish too?", Etna's features falter allowing a glimpse of hurt flash through

"I do not know what you are saying, Etna", Ametha turns her back to the witch, her focus onto the maps

"Liar… You knew how I felt but still… "

She can feel the older witch canter behind her back, seething. Her guard is heightened when the footsteps come to a stop. Alarm bells set when Etna replies in a cold tone, "I know it's true, you too. But I also know it is forbidden by our laws. What do you reckon shall happen? Banishment, death, a lifetime burning in the Dark, playing food for the Pythus?"

Ametha snorts, turning once more to lock eyes with Etna's, "She will never believe you"

"We'll see about that"

"This is ridiculous, Etna. I did not intend to take anything from you because nothing of it was ever yours. And it would mean that I care about you. Which I don't"

The older sister doesn't respond, her eyes betraying the tumult of emotions raging through her. A broken mirror offering a squinting outlook as hate, guilt and reason wage war in her psyche, only to be squashed by the irrational self righteousness of the scorned woman.

Ametha, heaves a sigh, acknowledging the unspoken decision, "You do know you will regret this, don't you?"

"That is of my concern, not yours".

The ensuing silence is torn when urgent knocks hit the Hall's doors. A young man enters, not waiting for the permission to be granted. He seems visibly exhausted from his long travel, finding difficulty to speak as he pants, trying to catch a second wind

"Lady Ametha, I have a message from Lady Chryseis. She said it was important and to give it to you in person".

Ametha turns to her sister, dismissive, "I can take it from here."

Etna's steps echo in the hall as she passes the messenger and vanishes from the egress.

As if on cue, the young man approaches Ametha and presents her with a piece of white paper. The witch fidgets with the empty fabric, turning it upside down to see no mark of ink. She shuts her eyes then, hands clenching the pearly cloth. It is not long before soft murmurs ring in her ears, uttering the message intended to her

_She is alive and we have found her_

_The Sith who hides among us_

_Disguised as Morgana's maid_

_Guinevere, is her name_

_She has the roots of her Mother_

_And the traits of her Father_

_She is alive and we have found her_

_The Sith who shall destroy us_

Ametha opens her eyes to find the messenger waiting for her answer

Shit

The intertwined threads of her mind link together, busy in their search for a way to gain time, to impede Chryseis from eliminating their last hope of peace. A white light flashes through, and she ponders on this newly formed idea, dangerous idea, that she knows she will regret when all will be said and done. But there is no time

She locks eyes with the silent man. "Come", she orders and watches as he steps toward her, stopping a few feet from her lean figure.

She steps closer, and cradles his face between her hands, the young man's head trapped in her palms. His wary if not utterly terrified gaze darts from her hands to her features. His eyes widen as they stare at the bloodlike fire burning in her eyes. Flames call for him, trap him in their yoke like a moth in a spider's web.

Her words are soft, and he cannot say if they are hers or not, planting seeds in his mind, that grow into soft ivy, meddling with his memories.

_You arrived to Asgard but did not find lady Ametha_

_Instead, you met lady Etna_

_She insisted on you giving her the message_

_You tell her Chryseis asked for Ametha and not her to receive it _

_She snatches it from your hands and reads it_

_She orders you to tell Chryseis she will bring this matter to the Queen _

_No action should be taken before the orders of Brunhild_

Alien visions fog his mind. The annoyed features of lady Etna stare at him, expectant… "Lady Ametha is not here, give me the message I will bring this to our Queen" … a paper is snatched… hands are empty… a plastered smirk on delicate features…Chryseis…Waiting for orders…"She shall not take action without Brunhild's orders"…creased silk, and turning heels…The lady Etna's back disappears from his sight…

_Now go._

The messenger nods slowly. He silently turns and heads out of the hall.

Ametha releases an anxious sigh. She folds the maps, still lain on the table and with a flick of her hand, they vanish into thin air.

She takes her sword and purposely strides out of the castle to meet her search party. She ignores the snide whispers in the recess of her mind, questioning the consequences of her actions while the hurt features of her older sister keep nagging her vision.

She eventually locks eyes with an awaiting Syreth whose relaxed stance stiffens at the thinly veiled urgency in her gaze.

_They found her._

"We have wasted enough time. Let's go and unleash that monster". Her voice is too gruff, her breathing too ragged as she struggles holding her impassive features inscrutable, hiding the developing cracks.

The search party leaves Asgard's castle under her command. They ride for a few hours, four, perhaps five. They cut through dark forests and verdurous lands before arriving at a small clearing surrounded by thick woods.

In the middle, an old well juts from the ground, the reminiscence of the mark of magic in these lands. A gate to the darkness that shall soon surround them.

They dismount their stallions and stride toward the well. As the guards descend through the rocky gorge, emptied of its water a long time ago, Ametha turns to the skies, sending a last prayer, a bottle to the sea in hope she will be answered.

_They found Guinevere_

_You need to respond before it is too late_

_You must come to her aid, Ethelfleda_

As if on cue, the meadow is wrapped into a tiny breeze, leaves trembling in the swirls of the wind before becoming still again as the little tempest had passed, gone to deliver its hidden demands.

Her eyes meet those of Syreth and revert back to the well. She climbs into it and descends into the Dark.

* * *

A skull. Its ugly bared smile cast at her. She could hear its sneers while her eyes are transfixed on the makeshift inkwell.

She blinks and lets her eyes roam the room she has been forcefully sent to for questioning. The bounty hunter didn't waste time to arrange it as his own. Wide open chests made of dark wood, charms and scattered books attesting of the travels he had done adorned every space. It makes the chamber feel smaller than it already was, adding to the sensation of being trapped.

Her gaze lands on Aredian's hands rummaging through a drawer, before reverting back to the skull and that damned snickering smile.

"So … Guinevere …Leodegrance, is it?" Aredian eases himself on the chair at his desk, facing Gwen, He furrows his brows after he writes her name on a paper.

She doesn't realize how dried her mouth is, having remained silent since the talk with Morgana in her chambers earlier, until she has to clear her throat before answering with a laconic, "Yes, My Lord"

Aredian offers a crooked smile before tilting his head, studying her. He lets Gwen squirm under his gaze, silence settling in the room.

"Well, dear Guinevere, you are quite well-known in this kingdom, if your past is anything to go by", Aredian looks at her intently, a hand drumming on the desk while the other cradles his chin.

Gwen swallows thickly, wringing her hands tight, "I live a simple life. It just happened I was the unwilling victim of incidents that were not of my doing"

The mercenary snorts, shaking his head, "It just happened…".

He seems to mull over her words before reverting his attention back at her, "My poor Gwen, do you know how often I hear these words, - _it just happened_? As often as – _but I didn't do anything_ - or – _I swear, I am innocent_ - and so on … and more times than not they are guilty"

He stands abruptly, making Gwen's heart skip a beat, and goes round the table to stand behind her. He lowers his head until his nose brushes her curls and whispers "You and I both know things never _just happen_, don't we?"

He watches her clench her hands tighter. The smell of fear tangles with the fading aromas of the flowers decorating the room.

Gwen could sense his presence towering behind her. She felt small, an animal trapped in a cage. The same fingers of powerlessness danced around her chest, constricting it, making it harder to breathe just like when Uther sentenced her to death for witchcraft not so long ago.

"I do not know what you mean, My Lord"

He straightens and goes to lean against the table, eyes probing her, arms crossed, "Of course you do"

"I swear, I do not know what you are saying, My Lord. I wasn't even in the vicinity when the incident happened"

"The incident, young girl, is an act of evil. And have you any way to prove you were not in the woods when Merlin cast his magic?"

Gwen's eyes drop to her hands, defeated. The finger of a shiver traces its way down her spine. She lets out in a weak tone, "I was cleaning the lady Morgana's room"

"Alone"

"Yes"

"Well that settles it"

She heaves a sigh, set on not breaking her stoic façade. Fear was blocking her mind, an invisible wall she kept hitting time and time again. "It still doesn't prove I was in the woods either"

"No it doesn't but your past with witchcraft will tip the balance on my side, not yours"

She lifts her face, their eyes meeting. Her voice is still deceptively even, "I have no past with witchcraft"

Aredian snickers, and rummages through the papers scattered on his desk before lifting one up and reading its contents. "Not only do you have a past with magic but so does your father it seems…. Oh sorry, _did_, he's dead…" he adds in a sing-song tone.

"To be honest, it was only a matter of time we finally caught onto the daughter since we already apprehended the Father. But I have to hand it to you; your plan was cunning, hiding right under Uther's nose thanks to your ties with his offspring. Pretty clever, I must admit. Way more than that of our former blacksmith. Trying to escape from the castle on his own was quite preposterous to begin with", he punctuates with a smirk.

Anger spreads through her veins like cold poison. She wants to scream but only manages to choke on the resurging pain. She closes her eyes as she feels them burn from the salty waters waiting to fall. She wills them away, only focusing on her breathing, in and out, in and out, and in…

_Only a matter of time now. Add some of the rumours with Paladdin and Arthur and we'll have our first culprit._

..and out.

She opens her eyes to meet his, strong anew. "My Father was wrongly accused of magic, just as I had been. We were too trusting, unfortunately. My Father would always rather see the good in people and what should have been a respectable trait of character has turned into his downfall. So to answer your inquiry, no, I have still no idea what I am accused of and I have _never _practised magic, My Lord".

She can see the bounty hunter try his utmost to cover up the flash of annoyance his features briefly hinted at before vanishing under the smug smirk plastered on his face. But she didn't need to see him to know how her newly found resolve had thwarted his plans of presenting her as his first culprit before Uther.

"tsk, tsk, come on now Gwen. From what I see you are not very good at playing games. But ... I'll bite. Let's say that by a miracle of divine intervention you and your Father were the unsuspecting victims to Fate's constant harassment of your petty and insignificant lives ...then how do you explain King Paladin's fate after having enjoyed your ... ministrations, all night?"

_I don't blame him really, can't say I wouldn't have enjoyed you myself_

The insult should have felt like a slap in the face but she had grown to get used to it, thanks to her kith in the servants' quarters. The rumours had only spread faster with Arthur's newfound interest in her, one he had difficulty to hide.

She smiled bitterly at the turn her life took, when she could still remember the promises she made to herself, never to be like _them_. The tainted women, who could no longer hold onto dignity and secrecy to shroud them from the hardships inherent to a life of servitude. Those whose shame was bared for all to see, despite hiding from the people's scrutiny while the so called noblemen they suffered from strutted smugly, only seeing them as another notch on their belt.

Some of them were forced upon, there were those who were too innocent, fragile to say no, others fell victim to the dangerous promises of fairytales while a small fraction would willingly admit their desire to taste what has always been reserved to the highborn ones.

And today she was seen as one of them.

A pang of guilt pounded her heart as she recalled her childhood, as she grew up judging them, believing the stories whispered in corners, following the masses who'd rather prey on the weak than blame their masters.

She could shout her innocence till the kingdom comes but nothing would come of it.

"I... King ... Paladin shared moments with other people before he left the Kingdom. I am not the last person he was with before he returned to his lands. Why would I be the one at fault for his illness as it appeared much longer after ... that night?", she lets out, the words burning her tongue.

Aredian's snort has less bite than before, offering a squint at the growing annoyance nagging him.

"There is nothing to prove otherwise either. You could have easily cast a spell on him to appear after his leave"

"Why would I do that?", she lets out, piqued

"Perhaps he had been too...eager, he mistreated you that night, or you wished to make nobility pay for the hardships of your life"

"No, he had not or I believe you would have heard that rumour as well. And as for making nobility pay, it is thanks to Camelot's nobility that I earn my wages; that I work to survive. Why would I ever wish to bite the hand that feeds me?"

"And Prince Arthur?"

She cannot control the thump of her heart at his name, rendering her throat dry.

"What about the Prince?", Her voice is too gruff, her stance too defensive, she knows he had caught onto it, her first truly unguarded reaction. Precisely the reason why he abruptly changed the subject of discussion.

"Well, see, I don't believe in fairytales and I still cannot fathom the altered behaviour he has toward you. From what I have heard, he even treats you better than some of the ladies of the court vying for his attention, when he was famous for _never_ acknowledging anyone beneath him. If I did not know better, I would believe this has all the attributes of the work of magi-".

"He does it to assuage his guilt, not out of interest of any kind"

As she expected, Aredian is taken aback by her reply, so she goes on, making the most of his surprise, "He was among those who arrested my Father and believes … _knows_ he was wrongly accused. Just as the King is aware my Father's execution had been a mistake. _You_ are the only one thinking otherwise"

"Indeed, I believe you lie, Guinevere. Do you wish to know what else I think?", he asks approaching her.

He crouches before her, their eyes level and lets out in soft murmur, "I think you blame Uther for your Father's death and have been planning his downfall ever since. You are using your powers to bind his offspring to your will, making the Prince feel guilt over a mere commoner he would have never remembered otherwise. Paladin's illness could lead to war against the Kingdom, just like your closeness to the future heir could prove dangerous enough to turn him against his own Father."

"This is ridicu-… no"

"Yes, and I have servants easy enough to bend so they could testify against you", he adds with a smile

Realization dawns on her, as the familiar sense of powerlessness shrouds her in an embrace tight enough to smother her, "You are setting me up… you know I am innocent-"

"I know but the circumstances are not in your favour. I doubt your word will hold much weight against mine and other testimonies that will identify _you_ at the scene of the crime, blame _you_ for casting a spell on King Paladin and on Prince Arthur"

She can see him straighten up though his eyes never leave her seemingly defeated posture. She knows he notices when her shoulders slump with the weight of realisation.

"Yes, Gwen, you will be left to rot in the donjons at the very best. Or you could be sentenced to burn, a fate you might not be able to escape this time"

_Unless you give me that Merlin boy_

As if on cue, she meets his eyes. He looks taken aback by the intensity seeping from her gaze, as if she… _No, that's impossible_. Gwen doesn't have to read his mind to know the thoughts colliding in it.

He leans towards her, brushing a wayward curl, while his lips borrow the outlines of what should have been a sympathetic smile, "Are you poised to sacrifice yourself for those whom didn't budge to save your Father or even yourself? Why didn't Merlin or Morgana do something when they knew you were not exactly magic, when they knew your Father was not to blame?"

It took all her willpower not to let him in on her surprise. She swallowed thickly her eyes never leaving his before responding, "I do not know what you are saying My Lord"

"Yes, you do, I know what they are, and I know what _you_ are. You are not like them, they have powers, and you don't. You will never belong to their world, or only be seen as an afterthought, a cute distraction. They shall always remind you how powerless you are, how insignificant you can be compared to them, how you depend on them for everything. Are you not tired of constantly being looked down upon? Being taken for granted? Never allowed some tiny sense of recognition? I know you do"

"You do not know me"

_Indeed. You should have never survived._

"Oh yes I do, I actually understand you more than you might think. Although your true nature will be safe with me, especially if you tell Uther of your Merlin friend."

"I have nothing to say"

He silently treads behind her, that's why she doesn't notice at first. Not until she stifles a gasp when he violently tugs at her curls, stranded in her bun. His voice is still soft but does not erase the rasp tone of his threat "Do. Not. Lie To me."

Her face jerks forward as he releases her, another wave of tears force their way to her cheeks, chaffing her eyes but she denies them once more. She circles her waits in her arms in an attempt to calm the trembling that took hold of her body.

Aredian takes her chin between his fingers, lifting her face as her eyes meet his, "When I finish with Merlin, you are next and no amount of royal ward, nor Prince of Camelot will be enough to save you"

Contempt seeps from his gaze, as he offers a parting smirk, letting her go, for now.

"This will be all. You can regain the servants' quarters until I decide of your arrest"

Gwen stands at once, not sparing him any glance, willing her weak legs to tread her faster onto the door, to run the farthest away from him.

As her fingers trace a whisper on the door handle, his voice stops her in her tracks.

"A shame really. You have always been a loyal servant to Camelot. I wonder what the King would think when he learns a _Sith_ is in his court"

She turns to him, anger dripping from her gaze as she locks eyes with his, one last time. She feels something unravel, the murmurs coming together, meddling into one sharp transcendent idea that pushes against the walls of her mind, demanding its release. An arrow willing itself onto its target.

She can sense herself let go, the loss rippling into her mind and body as if a weight dropped off of her shoulders.

_Indeed, I wonder what King Uther will say when he learns you are one as well _

Her eyes widen as she witnesses Aredian's shock. The target was reached; the invisible barrier breached, to let her thoughts penetrate the web of his mind, tearing through the veil guarding the stream of his thoughts.

She doesn't let him react. She turns the door knob and flees through the hall, rushing toward the servants' quarters, replaying what happened over and over again in her head.

Gwen is out of breath as she reaches the Palace kitchens, and stops dead in her tracks when she sees a dozen pair of eyes stare at her. Sweat prickles on her spine, as the probing gazes stab through her. Fear, suspicion and disgust pathetically concealed by her kith watching her, immobile, as if her arrival made the invisible stirring of time stand still.

_Witch … I knew it all along … No wonder the Prince would be infatuated with her, he was enchanted … This time you will burn_

She snorts inwardly as no one dares meet her eyes when she confronts each of their gazes. Another wave of anger crashes against the wall of her blank features, coming up against her defences, rage screaming inside her mind.

The frail thread of silence is cut with hurried steps, and her heart swells as Mary comes forward, enveloping her in a tight embrace before turning back to the servants, "What are you looking at? Don't you have chores to attend to?"

Her cutting tone seems to awaken the Palace workers who resume their tasks, the kitchen bustling from the buzz of its working little bees, although not without a worried glance, or a sharp glare thrown toward Gwen.

"Bloody idiots", Mary curses under her breath before offering an apologetic smile, "Do not pay them any heed; you know how people are…"

Gwen shrugs, her soul way too heavy to elicit any reasonable answer. Reasonable. She was tired of being reasonable when everyone in her life was everything but.

"Go back to your home, Gwen, I will take care of your chores … go and rest, you need it"

"The other servants resent my staying in their vicinity, don't they?", she echoes Mary's censored thoughts

"Yes … that too", Mary admits with a weak curl of her lips.

"I did not do anything, Mary, I swear…"

"I know, and I believe you. But, alas, I fear not many people share my sentiment… Go home, Gwen"

Mary reiterates a touch more forcefully.

Gwen offers a jittery nod before truckling to the silent demands of her kith, hidden in the almost order of her friend, now their unwilling messenger.

She casts a last glance to the kitchens before turning her heels and draws toward the courtyard.

Her head aches from the hullabaloo that clamors in her mind, like tephra thrown away by the erupting volcano of her fears, twisting her stomach in tight aching knots.

She stops in her steps, inhales sharply and wills herself away from the path to her trite dwelling, as she head toward the far end of the lower ward. She descends toward the outskirts of the kingdom, dark woods looming closer, as her breathing turns ragged. She treads faster, her hurried steps crossing through the slums beggars and gypsies call their home. She picks up her skirts and makes a turn left, toward the meadow. The one nearby a small rivulet, hidden in the east entrance of the forests of Camelot.

She feels the wind's gentle caress ripen into forceful gusts as she runs faster and faster toward the clearing. She makes out the blurry outlines of an abandoned forge, carved in the horizon, its ruins decaying under the dusky rays of Sun.

She crosses the rivulet, oblivious to the water soaking the hem of her dress, rendered heavier as she treads forward, relentless, in trance like focus toward the nearing copper stones of the ancient establishment.

She's breathless when reaching the dangling emblem of a former blacksmith's home. Her feet step into the forsaken dwelling painted into the amber colour of dusk, the roofless workshop allowing entrance to warmth of the dimming light. She falls to her knees, deep breaths willing strength back into her weary muscles. Her hands stab into the ground, steadying herself as she winces at the burning in her legs, shutting her eyes to let her hammering heart catch a second wind.

At long last, her eyes slowly open, taking in her surrounding before eventually resting on the slew of rocks neatly disposed before her, wild flowers adorning the hastily made sculpture.

Squinting closer, she would see the engraving carved into the grey stone, the larger one set in the middle. But she does not need to, she knew what it said.

_Never said a lie_

_Never took a life_

_Though surely saved one_

The epitaph of a loving daughter, sole keeper of a memory tainted by the infamy of a lie. The consequence of hasty judgements and deceiving appearances leaving a tarnished reputation to forever seek for atonement and rehabilitation among those worthy of being remembered.

Gwen rearranges the flowers into a small bouquet and closes her eyes once more, surrendering to the peace shrouding her at last. She summons the memory of his strong hands, good hands, holding her, his deep voice lulling her to sleep, the mellow notes of her childhood lullaby teasing her ears.

She smiles as she lies on the ground, near his last place of rest, still sensing the heavy burden of pain that she will never really let go of.

"How I wish you were still here, Father."

* * *

He drums his fingers on the wooden table, a slew of curses running through his mind so to alleviate his building apprehension.

She should have been back by now. He's searched for her everywhere… well, he sent Merlin to look for her but it was as though she had vanished from the surface of Earth. Her friend … Judy, Maggie, Mary …, one of those servants said she went for a stroll. _A stroll_. A bloody stroll at bloody dusk

And now nightfall was creeping up on the city with no sign of her.

_Sod this, I'll take a search party and we'll go find-_

His resolution is cut short by a creaking sound. The door opens, revealing her unruly curls dirtied by clay and grass. She isn't startled when she sees him abruptly stand, nor fazed by his presence, as if she knew he was already there.

She seems tired and weary, her eyes betraying the exasperation she tries to smother in the hadal recess of her sheltered dispositions. She offers a quick curtsey punctuated by the ever persistent "My Lord".

"Guinevere, where have you been, we've searched for you everywhere?", he offers in a deceptively calm tone, trying to rule his body under control, reigning on the sharp instinct to hold her in his arms, … or chide her for having everyone worry.

"I went for a walk … to clear my head."

She doesn't look at him when she treads toward the nearby table, a bowl and pitcher half full of water lain on the wooden piece. She fills the bowl with water, revelling in the cold sensation of the liquid stroking her hands, cleansing them of any reminiscence of the abandoned ruins.

She wipes her freshened palms in her apron before casting her gaze toward the Prince, his forced silence belying the pent-up frustration that smouldered inside him.

"May I ask why you are in my home, Sire?"

"I was worried"

"How did you get in?"

"Your neighbour, she let me in"

"You shouldn't be here. It is not-"

"Proper, I know."

He can sense her thinly veiled annoyance as she swallows what should have been a snappish reply only replaced by a sharp release of breath, her head down, studying her hands. He lets out a despondent sigh and she chances a look up in his direction.

Arthur sits back on the chair, watching her, his hands clasp together, loosely resting on the table before him.

"I do not wish to fight you, Gwen. I know how cruel Aredian can be and there were… awful things said to you, today. I don't believe it is a crime to worry for you. Morgana does but you don't seem to mind her caring as much as you do mine".

It is her turn to heave a sigh. Her shoulders fall as her anger vanishes, melting in the warmth that seeps from his eyes, coaxing her to yield only a little in her constant redrawing of the lines separating them. Lines he is so set on crossing just as she is poised not to let him.

She treads forward, easing herself on the seat across from him. His gaze never strays from hers, assessing her distressed state she desperately seeks to hide, to no avail.

"I do not wish to fight you either. The day has been … difficult and I needed some time alone to think. Aredian suspects me and I fear your being here would only fuel his suspicion further. "

"I won't let him touch a single strand of yours. I will deal with him and my Father if it needs be. I came to apologize for what happened today. My Father … was rude and cruel and … I am sorry "

He hopes she can see the plea in his eyes, guilt and fear colliding to make her understand what he was afraid to put into words.

She shakes her head offering a reassuring smile, " The King was cruel but I am not the one who suffered the most of his cruelty… You must know how wrong he is about you. You have a great heart and you shall become a great King. …Better than _he_ will ever dream to be" , she adds, a sharp edge to her tone

Her earnest reassurance summons the ghost of a smile, tugging at his lips. He casts a tentative palm forward, an attempt to catch her hand, but she withdraws just as fast.

His befuddled expression prompts her to add "But I think you should stop seeking me out. People talk and they are imagining a whole lot of extravagant … things, about your interest in me. Which is ridiculous of course"

"Is it?", his eyes bore into hers, forcing out the truth she is so set on denying.

She swallows thickly. "What is?"

"Me fancying you. Is it that outlandish of a thought?", he replies coolly upraising her.

Her eyes widen slightly as she lets out a nervous chuckle.

"Of course it is. You are a Prince, and I am a servant. There is nothing for you to fancy about me. You are destined to Princesses or Queens. Besides, nothing in our rela-… dealings with one another would suggest to anything as such. We are … somewhat … friends and we hold a great deal of respect for each other. That is all I could ever ask of my liege".

She ends her rambly denial out of breath, her rebuttal set on stopping him from discussing the matter further.

His features harden, as he leans back on the chair, assessing her. "I thought you said we were not friends" he asks, the cutting edge in his voice slicing through her pride.

She shrugs, "I lied"

He snorts, shaking his head. A wan smile dances on his lips although his gaze is everything but merry. Blue eyes turn into the shade of grey she knows so well as his true sign of anger while his stance borrows the posture of calm.

"So what does it mean, precisely? I shouldn't talk to you, acknowledge you? Ask for your advice on the Kingdom? Forget how much I value your counsel and your ideas? Are we becoming strangers? Should I forget you ever existed?", he asks through gritted teeth.

She averts her eyes, focusing on her hands again. "You managed that for years. I am sure you can do that again, My Lord".

"Don't. Do not act like the cruel woman you are not. Yes, I have been blind for years. My loss. But I can't just erase you from my life, Gwen. Even if I wanted to, I just can't"

His anger seems to echo her own as she furrows her brows, glaring at him.

"This is not only about you, _My Lord_. Aredian believes I enchanted you into fancying me. He believes this is part of a grand scale plan to make Uther pay for killing my father. He could make me burn for this. I am the one in danger. I do not understand why you are making it so difficult to see."

Arthur rakes an annoyed hand through his locks before cursing under his breath. He doesn't let silence settle between them, however, well aware it could only tread them further apart from each other.

"What did you tell him?"

Her stomach churns, as the words stumble out, "I told him you-…what he thought was a fancy-"

She shuts her eyes and mulls over her words, as if one wrong sentence could break the quaint balance their relationship was hanging to.

"What did you tell him Gwen?", he asks

"I told him you were nice to me because you felt-… you knew my Father was wrongly accused.", she lets out in a huff, averting her eyes.

He can't reign on his features this time, can't impede their faltering. Her words cut through his core. He smothers the sarcasm he usually relies upon to act unaffected, an onslaught of guilt quelling his anger. He laughs nervously, unable to summon words, reason, something that would stop the blade twisting in his insides.

"You believe I am using you to assuage my guilt... I know I am responsible for your father's death and you have every right to resent me but trust that I would _never_ use you... for anything "

She offers him a faint smile, her best attempt at an apology, "I don't blame yo-"

"Of course you do"

"No, I do not! I cannot blame you for following the King's rule; I know you are not at fault-"

"I could have talked to him, tried harder to stop him-"

"Why? My Father's escape sealed his fate. Nothing could have prevented his execution. You of all people know how blind the King is to matters of sorcery."

She shakes her head, gaze lost in the distance, studying invisible patterns. She's borrowing time to will away the burning liquid gathering in her pupils. She blinks furiously to prevent the salty streams from soaking her cheeks, and meets his probing gaze.

"I do not blame you. But you see me as ... a token, the token victim of your father's deeds. Did you offer condolences to the other families who suffered Uther's rule? Did you go and condole with them? Did you help them cope with the secrecy of the burial, not being allowed a proper tombstone because of people's fear of association? Why should I have a special treatment when others were not even acknowledged the right to grieve? I do not ask for anything, even less your pity-"

"It is not pity-"

"Then what is it? Why? Why me?"

She doesn't see it, doesn't deem herself worthy enough to see it. If he could, he would shake this stubborn belief out of her, battle her fears to make her fathom how her smile tells him there is hope in this world, how her heart can light the darkest of abysses, how she coloured the world he only knew as black and white into a gamut of textures and ardent tinctures he would spend his lifetime to comprehend. How much she has become indispensable to his life.

At least, he can try.

"Your plight made me see for the first time the consequences of my Father's actions, the sacrifices Camelot's people suffered to make this Kingdom worthy of all Albion. This guilt is what sparked the need to know my people, to love them, to give my life for them. You did this, Gwen. Knowing you, learning from you, you taught me how to recognize the value in everyone, how nobility would be nothing without the common people serving them... This is not pity; this is admiration, respect I have for you."

He catches her fingers in his own, this time too quick for her to withdraw. He gently pulls her palm into his, a thumb stroking the brown skin from the back of her hand, admiring the wavelength of different shades, from sheen of gold due to the candlelight, to dark beryl.

"You are the strongest person I know, Gwen. The most noble. You have suffered from your rulers, but never once faltered in your loyalty when you had every reason to. You have a great heart, an even greater mind, and you _are truly beautiful_ "

He can feel her bristle at the confession he almost let out. His hands gather her palm in a firmer hold, not letting her runaway until he showed her how deeply she affected him.

He offers a half-hearted chuckle, his warm gaze urging her to see how ridiculous her demand has become, "You have become too important to me to cast you aside. And I swear I would not let anything happen to you … if only you could trust me"

"I do "

"Really? If I asked you right now to tell me the truth, not about Merlin, nor Morgana but about you, who you truly are, would you?"

She doesn't falter in her gaze although her silence is answer enough.

A despondent smile traces its way on his lips, "See? You trust Morgana, you trust Merlin, but you do not trust me. They don't either. I know I can't blame you for it. You have faith in me doing right by Camelot, but not in my doing right by you. I only ask of you to lower your guard, allow me a chance to win yo-"

She abruptly withdraws her hand, jolts away from him, the furthest away from his soft gaze, but mostly his words, his dangerous words that hold the power to trap her in a yoke she wouldn't want to be freed of.

She shakes her head frantically, as if to will some strength back in her. She had to be the reasonable one when he made it so clear he will not be bent by any rules.

"No, I can't. Forgive me Sire but I have nothing to offer you and I would rather you did not bestow this affection on me. Surely, a noble lady is better suited for it"

"I do not want a noble lady-"

"Well you can't have me!".

He is stunned into silence, staring at her as she puts a trembling hand on her lips, equally shocked at her outburst. He could count on one hand the number of people having ever raised their voice at him and none of them has ever been below his station.

It was a strange and painful sight. Demure Guinevere in panic, wild eyes pleading him to leave her be, to for once accept that what he wants is not what is right.

He tries to bridle that familiar and - until now - righteous royal anger flaring through his chest when she speaks again.

Despite her attempts otherwise, her voice is too bright, her eyes betraying the fear churning her belly, "Forgive me My Lord. You must understand that with everything, it is better if we kept to our station."

Try as he might he cannot reign on his anger, tinged with this alien feeling of loss he desperately tries to unspool from him. He could handle being told what to do, but he could never abide to be told a battle was lost before fighting it. "You are letting him win, Guinevere. Is that what you really want?"

She meets his gaze, steely almond pupils staring right back at him. He winces at the weariness they exude, and not for the first time, he resents his upbringing, his royal bubble shrouding him from the real hardships of life, rendering him numb and callous to others. The ones he was taught did not matter.

"I want a lot of things my Lord. I want peace. I want my Father back. I want to go back to simpler times when Morgana was having peaceful nights, when Merlin was just your clumsy servant, when you did not know I even existed. But I have learned that people like me do not get what they want. Today I only ask you to hear my request: I want you to see how the more you are near me, the more it … it hurts me. It hurts my reputation, it hurts my name."

He nods, swallowing the bitter taste of yet another apology she would have no use for. He locks eyes with her and he can feel her recoil from the onslaught of feelings she might not be ready for.

He carefully chooses his words, weighing each sentence, learning to respect her needs and still assert his view. He hates that it feels much like a compromise, a bargain on what should be left whole, be undivided.

"Fair enough. Your wish will be my command. I will let you be. But make no mistake, Guinevere. I will not stand on the sidelines watching Aredian harm you. We will help you. Me…Merlin, Morgana… We will fight for you. Whether you want it or not."

The Prince catches the watery smile she offers him as sole reply before bowing and leaving her trite dwelling. Tiny droplets welcome him in the sullied streets of the Lower Ward. Arthur tightens his cloak and heads for the Palace, not looking back.

* * *

_AN : Hi again, I'm not sure anyone will read this but if there are some people still interested in this story, my apologies for the outrageously long wait but life has its demands that cannot be denied so yeah.. sorry._

_I hope you enjoyed this chapter ;)_


	7. Chapter 7

At first, there was Sky.

Sky was absolute, infinite, immortal. It was the beginning and the end. Sky was supreme, unlimited, unique.

Unlike its offspring. Abundant, incomplete, fractional, they had always been. Still, they all had the peaceful trait of their maker, all of them but for Sky's last two children, Moon and Sun.

Moon should have never happened. It is said that when Sky gave birth to its daughter, Sun, while her blazing light blinded all of her other siblings, a small piece of dark matter came out of its womb. It began to grow with Sun, although when his sister was commanding presence, fiery temper and mesmerizing beauty, Moon was dwarf-like, hard featured and cold severity. A not so happy accident that will forever tarnish the new dawn that came with Sun's birthing.

Moon suffered many vexations from his more powerful sister, as she made him pay his mere existing, forever tied to hers. Their squabbles turned to fights that started to unsettle the quiet balance Sky had always maintained.

So Sky created the World.

The neutral ground on which its two youngest children will rule upon and as Skye hoped, thrive to nurture and breed together instead of the constant need to destroy each other.

Thus the World came with its own set of rules and laws.

As what comes in one is always source for division, as what comes in two is always root for trouble, the World was set in three. The Light ruled by Sun, the Dark nurtured by Moon and Earth the land where peace was law.

Sky gave each sibling seeds that would grow onto the nature and life that will populate each of their dominion. Sun inherited with fleeting majesty, power as hollow and destructive as her fire. Wizards and witches, elves and alary unicorns. Moon was left with creatures grounded in the land, children of the earth, brought up in salt and sweat, mud and clay. Dwarves, trolls, and orks.

And Earth. Earth was where Dark and Light meddled, the outcome of supreme power and extreme frailty, the coming together of beauty and ugliness, good and evil. Sky wished it to be Balance. Unfortunately it gave birth to Contradiction and its living embodiment: Humans.

Humans held at their core the very nature of the never ending war between Sun and Moon.

So they fight

_They fight till they die over sun, over moon,_

_They fight till they die over sea, over air,_

_They fight till they die over blood, over love,_

_They fight till they die over words, over thoughts._

They fight in the land where peace is law. So peace became death.

Forever in search of a semblance of equilibrium, Sky offered its son an invaluable weapon, balancing the forces between its two children and sparking the resentment of its daughter. The one and only prize that will make Sun forever covetous of her brother Moon. The cosset that should have been hers all along as she was Fire.

Dragons.

The Light then became consumed with the possibility of any weakness toward the Dark. So much so that they created their own weapon. A monster born of iron and fire. A creature brimming with Dark magic.

_The Pythus_.

And then Peace became Death.

* * *

_2 days earlier _

The dank stench is what brings the memories rushing back. She was merely ten years old when she first descended to the Dark, trying to escape Uther's soldiers.

The gorge would be black as midnight if it weren't for their torches. Slimy reeks tangle with the threads of constricted air while the gnawing of bats echoes with their footsteps in the never ending dark hole they were swallowed into.

Ametha and her men descend the spiralled rocky stairs the dwarves had carved in the Dark's womb, each of their steps sending little rocks falling into the pitch-black darkness surrounding them. Although they could never hear when they touched rock bottom.

The descent is slow, careful. They have already lost 4 men who didn't pay enough heed to the slippery slope they were treading, their screams gobbled by the black beast that welcomed their fall. The gorge seemed to breathe in their fear, making each unasserted move their last. The walls dance around them, teasing their perception to trigger an unguarded response that would bring their death.

The steps move in succession, one appearing too short for one foot, the other too low requiring to almost jump below to reach it, the unwelcomed visitors trapped in a never ending ballet of twist and turns and carefully timed moves.

Ametha heaves a relieved sigh when ribbons of salty scent come to tickle her nostrils. The stinging balm of aquamarine shrouds them, letting them know they have almost reached the first gate. First of many.

She jumps on the last step, she can see grey sand twinkle in the dark, alternatively coated with bright silver due to the tidal waves soaking the shores of an invisible sea.

They welcome the feel of the ground under their feet, their toes having been the support of their balance throughout the descent, teetering on the edge of a mortal fall.

"This way", Ametha commands as she leads her small garrison toward the sound of the waves. They stop short at the first curtain of water, dark green liquid beckoning them to cross.

She hands her torch to Syreth before conjuring two coins.

_Gold to ask for entrance_

_Silver to thank for benevolence_

She throws the gold one onto the sea. The coin ripples and jumps on the surface in utter silence, a golden firefly dancing on the water before disappearing in the dark.

They wait. A few shaky breaths pass. They feel something move beneath their feet.

Then silence.

Unseen hands smother the light from their torches, leaving only silver silky spoors levitate before vanishing into the night.

They still wait, their breathing the only reminder of life in the silent gorge.

Timid spots of white light appear on the water. The heralds of the ever growing ripples that come to cockle the peaceful veil of liquid. The sea is now creased paper of dark green, boiling and twisting and squiggling like an animal giving birth, its screams too hollow for anyone to hear. At long last, it releases the intended reply, a silver bark comes out of the water and approaches the Light's party as it reaches the argent coated sandy shore.

Ametha is first to embark on it, quickly followed by Syreth and the remaining soldiers.

When the last man sets foot on its metal walls, the bark moves of its own volition, heading north.

The dinghy sails at medium speed though it makes no sound, as if flying above the water. It heads right toward a rocky wall, and the Light's party stifle their screams before the wall parts in two, revealing another shore coated this time with copper clay.

They descend from the boat and Ametha cannot suppress her smirk when she catches her men's surprise as the clay feels like spring moss under their feet. But red. And lethal.

"Don't touch it. It burns", she warns.

She feels Syreth approach her and answers his unasked question, "Now we wait for him to come".

The Light's warlord nods and stares toward the pitch-black wall across from them.

They don't wait long before a silhouette carves itself onto the rock, it treads toward them until the black curtain swathing its features reveals the man they have been waiting for to pursue their mission.

He stops a few feet away from Ametha, as Syreth presses a breath closer to her, ready to protect his lady.

A creased smile tugs at the men's lips, breathing some life into his weary eyes.

"A while it has been. You're all grown up now."

Ametha chuckles, "Glad to see you again, Balinor."

* * *

_Morgana dreams._

She dreams every night now.

She dreams that she burns.

She feels her belly churn, holding her silent screams as her feet curl. Her insides become molten lava, as blazing hands roam her skin, marking her, chaffing her, charring her.

She hears them laugh.

Belly laughs, happy laughs that feed her anger and the fire devouring her.

Tonight she dreams again. Red and gold torment her every thought. Fire and blood stir her dispositions into anger and fear. She sees the ghosts and sirens in a curtain of crimson. They whirl around her, masking the faces of her audience, deforming their merry features.

Then it happens.

She's among the people now, laughing as well. Her eyes turn upward, toward the Palace walls, the royal box but there's no one. No Arthur, no Uther. No. There is someone. Aredian. Watching, smiling, assessing.

Deformed glass. A window. She shivers at the cold breeze in her chamber as she opens the small egress. Scents of charred meat twist her face in disgust. She feels her lips curve. Rancor burns through her.

_And then she sees his eyes. _

Morgana's heart skips a beat, blue pupils wide open in trance like madness. Sweat covers her skin as she tries to even her breathing, to pacify the trembling that took hold of her.

"So you've seen it at last".

She tries to sit, pushing her covers, willing her weary limbs to obey her silent command, and turns to face Chryseis sitting on a chair beside her bed.

"Gaius. My dreams. It was Gaius all along".

Chryseis smiles, as she sidles towards her. She eases herself on the mattress and smoothes the rumpled sodden locks of her young protégée. "He must die, Morgana. You must let him die."

"Why?"

"He helped kill your family. He helped Uther destroy Gorlois and his lineage"

Morgana frowns. The words of the druids come back in sputtered murmurs, muffled words all tinged with Aglain's soft baritone. One name sets apart, nagging her.

"Garlaeth", Chriseis nods, "Yes but you've never known him. When your mother died giving birth, he was consumed with pain and rage and Gorlois took you in his care to-"

"Protect me. I know"

"And to love you. Him, Eygyr, Morgause-"

"Morgause?", the royal ward's eyes meet those of her younger mentor. Chryseis mulls over her next words, careful to set apart what to reveal and what to keep as a secret for now.

"Yes. Morgause. Gorlois and Eygyr's daughter. First daughter, since you became theirs afterwards"

"What happened?"

Morgana catches the slight tension taking hold of her mentor. The red eyes turn incandescent almost bloodlike. The air turns thick, pulsating, attesting of the power of magic in the chambers, the thrumming in cadence with the beating of her heart.

Chryseis offers one of her trademark smiles. A dare swathed in the borrowed features of an invitation. "Why don't you let me show you?".

Her hands cradle Morgana's face, forefingers set on her temples. The ward suppresses a shiver at the cold sensation of the Light's witch's palms against her alabaster skin.

"Look at me".

The royal ward's pupils lock with two circles ablaze coloured with touches of crimson. She feels the familiar warmth crawl up under her skin, taking over. A white light cozens her vision as her eyes turn aglow, coated with a sheen of amber.

She gasps at the alien sensation running through her. Every fibre of her being is taut, a thousand ropes pulled tight into every direction with her, her core at the centre, holding them, arrows set to escape the bow of her mind. Sweat prickles her skin, droplets become needles stinging her arms, tickling her back. The tension gathers in the pit of her belly, stirring and stirring until that one single moment when she lets go.

And she sees. Everything.

* * *

She shouldn't be relieved. And yet a tiny parcel of her, one that she tried to smother but rebels against her own will, is relieved. Relieved it wasn't her.

Gwen sits at her table; her eyes roam every inch of her home, revelling in the sense of belonging. The wrong name and it would have been her in the cell, accused of magic and to be sentenced to death.

And she loves Gaius, she does love the old man, the closest thing to a parental figure she's ever had since Tom was taken away from her. But she is glad it is not her.

It scares her. How she was poised to do everything not to go back _there_. Not to face Aredian again. How time stood still, her knees almost giving out, when the Witch Hunter pointed his first accusing finger toward one of them.

She welcomes the onslaught of guilt fastening around her heart. She revels in it, clings to it, lest fear for her own safety would overcome her care for those she loved.

She heaves a heavy sigh, attempting to clear her mind. She needed to think, reassess the situation after Gaius's arrest today in court. A chill runs down her spine as she recalls Arthur's glance toward her when Aredian cast his first accusation against Merlin. A smile tugs at her lips when memories of Arthur's feigned surprise rush back, the Prince doing his utmost to pass the truth as ridiculous nonsense from a much too eager to please Witch Hunter.

It is difficult to ignore the irony of the scenery. Uther surrounded by what he feared most, in the closest of his vicinity, seemingly playing a game of cat and mouse with the lot of them before making up his mind on their fate. Although something tells her he didn't expect Gaius's confession, an unseen wedge in the well oiled machinery he and Aredian built.

Tension sets within her when she sees _her eyes_ again and _her smile_. Morgana's smile when Gaius was taken to the cells shared Gwen's hidden relief but it was the other thing it held that unsettled the young maid. A touch of confidence tangled with contentment but most of all an utter lack of surprise.

A surprise she should have shared with her companions of misfortune if not for her own clandestine ability. Gwen shakes her head. She does not want to think any more of it before speaking to Morgana. Yes. The best was to speak to her lady, pull out the nagging thorn that keeps needling her affection for her friend.

Quiet knocks startle her as she clears the nefarious thoughts from her mind. It isn't long before the familiar dark mop of hair and usually laughing blue eyes of Arthur's manservant appear through a timidly opened door.

He dawdles a bit at the doorsill, studying the weak smile she offers him before taking it as an invitation. As wary an invitation as it might seem. He eases himself into her home, careful to close the door behind her, and sits across from her.

Their silence is loaded with implications, untold truths, leaden grudges and hurt. But it doesn't stop Gwen from casting a palm toward her friend, palm that fastens around his own fingers and offers a reassuring pressure. "I'm sorry, Merlin. About Gaius".

Merlin's eyes meet hers, and her heart stings at the weariness that replaced his always merry dispositions. It feels unnatural, so very wrong on his features, as if the idea of Merlin sharing these feelings of pain, hurt and fear should be incongruous. It was to her. Her friend was always a beacon of hope, the promise of a smile, the anticipation of a laugh, mischief dancing in his blue pupils.

He gathers her palm in both his hands, nodding at her words, spoken and unuttered. It isn't long before he shakes his head, seemingly defeated, "I don't understand … He shouldn't be there. There must be a way, there must be-". His voice wavers; he releases a sharp breath, seemingly swallowing stifled sobs. "He's the closest thing I have to family here, Gwen. I can't lose him."

"Merlin. No…". She stands and sidles round the table to cradle him in her arms. "I know… I know."

She couldn't bring herself to shower him with empty words of reassurance she knows are lies so she holds him as he smothers other peals of tears vying for their release. Her hands run through his dark locks, tracing soothing patterns so he could feel a semblance of peace.

Peace is however fast broken with another set of knocks pounding her door. These are more of a command - forceful, urgent, uncaring. Merlin disentangles from Gwen, standing beside her, as both youngsters' attention turn to the opening door, revealing the lean frame of their tormentor.

"Well, well, well. Two birds. One stone. I am happy to see you have not fled, Merlin. I was quite surprised not to find you in Gaius's house. I should have known you would find refuge in another traitor's home. You seem to like them."

Aredian's words stir the anger she had held still for so long. It flares through her chest, as she welcomes his presence so she can have someone to direct it to.

Gwen steps in front of Merlin, to shield him from the Witch Hunter. She knows she cannot put her anger into words, nor cross the lines that still separate her from the lot of Aredian, mercenaries as they might be. But she does her utmost to make her tone distil what she is forbidden to voice aloud.

"May we help you?".

Uther's guest smirks before shaking his head, "No actually you cannot be of any help sweet Guinevere. I just came to let you both know that Gaius will burn - this is certain. But after the execution, _you_ will burn and then Merlin will. And I have taken measures to assure that any attempt of escape will be thwarted. Unless …". His eyes lock with Gwen's.

_Final offer. You can still save yourself. All I want is Merlin._

"No".

Merlin turns to Gwen, unable to reign on his surprise as she answers Aredian's unuttered question. She doesn't avert her eyes, still fastened to the Witch Hunter's gaze.

"Well, at least you were warned.", Aredian lets out in a cutting tone waved off by her impassive mask.

"I do not need to see you out, My Lord", are the only words she allows herself to let out, voice even, features borrowing the posture of calm.

The Witch Hunter sneers before barging out, leaving the door ajar. Gwen lets out a sigh as she treads toward her entrance and closes it. She is well aware of Merlin's gaze on her, probing her, assessing her. The same gaze everyone who encountered her and learned of her true identity shared. As she was an anomaly, a freak of nature displayed for everyone's attention. She hates that look. Probably the reason why she busies herself, making tea, refusing to meet his eyes.

"I knew it. You are magic. I knew it", Merlin lets out, out of breath, excitement, surprise and satisfaction colliding through him. He's half laughing when he inches closer to her. He grabs her hands, prodding her to meet his eyes. "What are you? What can you do? Why didn't you tell me?"

The last question sparks an onslaught of resentment that must have seeped from her eyes as she feels Merlin's smile turn brittle.

"The same reason you didn't tell me, Merlin. Or Morgana when she needed you most."

If her eyes are hard, or her tone curt, it is not her intention. She is just tired, so tired of the lies, the deceit and most importantly the secrets that festers their relationship, with Merlin, with Morgana. … although she tries to smother to snide little voice mocking her for forgetting herself, her own secrets she keeps from Arthur. It is not the same, she tells herself.

Her gaze finds Merlin's again, this time his posture uneasy, fingers scratching the nape of his neck as he seems to search for reasonable excuses to assuage his lack of belief in her, or her mistress.

"You did not trust us. You did not trust me, Merlin. Do you know how that feels? Can you imagine? I though you were my friend-"

"I am!", he's in front of her in a blink of an eye, terrified pupils trying to reassure her, as he catches her hands in his, urging her to understand, "I am Gwen. I just …"

"What?"

"I was scared! For me, for you, for everyone… Magic here means everyone I love is in danger and I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you. You have to believe me, Gwen. I wanted to tell you. Many times … but… it never felt right. I couldn't get you involved. And …". He sighs, defeated. All those years of pretending lying heavy on his shoulders.

"What Merlin? What?", her words are soft now, almost a whisper, forcing their way amid the stifled sobs clogging her throat

"I feared you might think… you might reject me, hate me … after what happened to Tom-"

Her voice cracks and she pulls her hands away from his. She treads toward the window, her back turned to him, a hand on her lips while her other cradles her waist. Her eyes close against another wave of burning liquid, refusing its release, refusing to feel this helpless ever again. She had promised herself never to cry, not anymore, not for anything, nor for anyone after her father's death. She failed once when Ethelfleda came back. She won't fail this time.

"Gwen …"

She clears her throat, vision still blurred, voice still hoarse, "I would have never judged you, Merlin. Never."

The bitter taste of resentment is there, never easy to erase, like the aftertaste of curdled milk.

_Gwen… Please._

She shakes her head, blinking as her eyes dry out. And lets out the question that she was afraid to ask since the arrival of Aredian. "So Morgana was right? The incident… it was you. Aredian is here because of what you did."

A chair creaks on the floor and Merlin slumps on it, head cradled in his hands. "It was all my fault."

_I just wanted one moment. One moment to be myself. _

Gwen doesn't say anything. She waits, she waits for the hurt to ebb away, to allow her to be the Gwen she knew so well again, the one ready to forgive, to sacrifice, to love unconditionally. But she's changed. They all have. She is wiser now, some would say jaded. More careful.

"Gwen, say something."

"What do you want me to say, Merlin?". She is glad for the returned softness in her voice, belying the heaviness curling around her heart. Fingers brush her collarbone now while her other hand still encircles her waist, keeping her together.

"I don't know".

She inwardly winces at the despondent sigh he lets out but she tells herself she's doing it for him, so he can understand the time for innocence is gone. Carelessness was not acceptable anymore. They had to grow up, leave dreams of perfect worlds, fair kingdoms and true justice in the recess of their memory.

_Tell me everything will be alright._

She shakes her head, mulling over her words before answering. Her eyes are glued to the streets of the Lower Ward steeped in the sodden showers of this ever quaint Summer in Camelot. "I can't tell you that, Merlin. Nothing will ever be the same. You know it."

_Will you ever forgive me?_

A faint smile tugs at her lips. Like she could ever not love him.

Her eyes meet his as she turns to face him. "We must help Gaius. We can't let him suffer because of us."

Merlin nods, her words breathing some strength into him. "I know what we have to do. I was going to search Aredian's room and-"

"No more "I", Merlin. We're in this together, so we have to work together."

It's his turn to mold his lips in a shy upturn before sobering up, eyes locking with hers, "We could tell Arthur".

"No. I don't think he could help us now. I don't-… we are not really on speaking terms and he doesn't know exactly-"

Merlin nods, with a faint upturn of his lips. "I understand."

He seems to hesitate, averting his eyes as to assess whether to reconcile with his secretive ways or pluck up the courage and offer her the honesty she's always asked for. Fortunately for him, Gwen answers for him, "You do no want me to tell Morgana, do you?"

His smile is uneasy, but she recognizes the apprehension in his eyes, every time the name of the Royal Ward is uttered in his presence. Tension unsettles from his shoulders, "No. Let's at least wait until we have enough proof and a way to free Gaius."

A nod is her sole response. "Tonight then. Aredian's room".

The newly confident lilt in his voice warms her heart. "Yes. Tonight."

* * *

She's always hated this place.

Its wide white space adorned with only 9 blue cathedras. Their own thrones ruling and sentencing over life and death, balancing a flimsy peace on a universe they might not rule upon for long. It felt bared, impersonal, soulless. As her rank demanded her to be.

She can hear the air stir, an invisible motion only the ones of her kind can perceive. Vibrations, pulsations tick in harmony with the quickened thrumming of time. The unseen deforming of space that heralds their arrival. The Goddesses of Oya.

"You're early", Amel's quiet tone belies her apprehension as they know this meeting she has called for will not be easy to win.

Ethelfleda offers her counterpart a faint smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "I am the one who called for you all. It is my duty to welcome you for this gathering".

They don't have to wait long before all the deities appear in the Quorum's room. Andraste is the last to arrive; an oddity that isn't lost on Ethel has her younger companion holds punctuality to the most basic level of courtesy.

The 9 Goddesses of Oya gather in the Quorum, each taking place on their respective thrones shaping out a circle in which Ethel stands tall right at its centre.

"My sisters. I fear I have to be the harbinger of rather unsettling news. Brunhild has set her plan in motion. She has sent her troops to Camelot, to retrieve the last of the 13 crystals our elders had sent to Earth, Lyonesse's crystal that was last in the hands of Gorlois before it was purloined by Uther. I do not need to remind our lack of-, … our benevolence, passivity with all her other endeavours, unsettling the balance that we have to assure in our realms."

"I fear this balance was unsettled since the purge, by Humans, not by Brunhild or any other magical being, if I recall correctly." Ethel doesn't have to turn to know Andraste is the first voice of dissent. One of many she has to conquer, to bend to her will so she could offer Camelot the help it direly needs.

"True. But today it is a magical threat that might lead to the destruction of Earth. We have let Brunhild kidnap and smuggle countless young witches under our nose without batting an eye. You all know what she will do to them. What she already does to them. You know what the power of broken witches, young witches meddled with that of the Crystal will do. Let alone if the ritual is performed on Lyonesse. Remember the words, _our_ words - _Another deity even Oya's guardians might not have the power to defeat_ - "

The silence in the Quorum is a cozened veil swathing the murmurs of Oya's deities, their thoughts free for all to share and to hear, stirred by their counterpart's words. Words that ask for action when it has been years since the guardians had truly meddled with the politics of the Three Realms.

Morrigan is the first to cut through the thinly veiled silence, "What are you asking of us Ethel?"

"You know the prophecy, you know we have found the Sith"

"Yes, apparently a traitor's bastard", Andraste sneers.

"A traitor's bastard that might bring the peace that we have yet to set on the Three Realms." Ethel cuts icily. "Guinevere is the only Sith who can touch the crystal, the only one who can use its power, mold it, render into a weapon nothing could destroy. She is my Sister's daughter. The daughter of iron and fire. But for that we need to come to her aid. Brunhild knows of her existence, knows she is in Camelot. She is at their gates, ready to wage a war against the city and all its inhabitants."

"Yes, she will wage a war against Uther, who killed thousands and thousands of magical beings under the watch of our elders, _under our watch_. Why? Because of this so called need for balance. Because magical people started to populate Earth. The purge was a massacre _we let happen_. It is only a fair retribution to let the Light or any magical Realm retaliate against these humans.". Andraste words are met with a wave of nods to Ethel's dismay.

"We are guardians, not judges." Ethel reminds her peers. "Our duty is to protect the Three Realms. Our duty is to protect its people, not play a game of politics and power! We cannot let the same cycles go on forever, we have to help the Three Realms to learn to live together, thrive together, not let petty distractions come between this peace that we have yet to cast on this Universe. We are better than that."

Andraste offers a faint chuckle. "Perhaps we are not. Admirable ideals, Ethel. Even more so as you are one of our oldest peers. But ideals are not rooted in reality, only fleeting wishes that will never come to fruition."

The younger goddess stands and treads inside the circle engulfing Ethel. She stops a few feet from her and casts her attention to her audience, "My sisters, as Ethel reminded us we are guardians, not judges. So I ask of you to let the Three Realms evolve to the new age they are heading to. As our elders let the Humans reclaim Earth through the purge. This is a sign for a new dawn, a dawn where magic will prevail. A dawn we have no right to stop."

The throb in the pit of her belly is familiar, as Ethel studies each of the goddesses' faces. She sees the same veiled apology she had first caught when her elders had sentenced Sukreth to her death. The same excuses never allowing their rules, their vision to evolve, the same need to cling to archaic laws as their sole guide through their duty. _We have lost our way. Somewhere, somehowe, we have lost our way_.

Oya's fear of tyranny and love for equilibrium has steeped the decision process in a never ending search for balance. Of this need, a system was created relying on the vote of the majority.

The same vote that will decide of Camelot's fate.

And just like 20 years ago, she is reminded why she's always hated this place.

* * *

No one likes to live in the land of the dead. Where light is a treasure only the most privileged can hold in ransom. Where brown sand and black holes are the only recollection of forsaken verdurous lands and turquoise oceans. Where life has long been rendered to a never ending standstill.

A shiver runs through Ametha's spine as she follows the steps of her guide, the last dragonlord turned gatekeeper of the Dark's most secretive ways. They tread through a maze made of breathing ivy turned black as tar, that would bite you if you dare inch closer. The tall darkened plant forms intricate walls that have imprisoned many a Light's witch trying to cross the labyrinth. The skulls at their feet, adorning the dark sand undulating beneath them, unsettling their balance, attest they are not the first ones treading through this dangerous route.

Ghouls of wind scream at them, sparking another tornado through their mind, as laces of dark sand flit around them. Ametha sidles closer as careful as she can toward a silent Balinor who treads north, weaving his way through the intricate breathing edifice that meanders around them.

"I suppose Ethelfleda told you about Brunhild's plan"

Balinor nods "Yes"

"I know about Merlin." Ametha adds, waiting for Balinor to stop and face her. Which he does. "He might need you now more than ever. Brunhild will be after him as well."

Balinor's lips gather in a tight line. "I am helping him now while guiding you toward the Pythus. Ethelfleda said you will not release it".

"No. If released there is no hope for Camelot. I will seal the gate so it can never come back to terrorize Earth as it did before."

"Then this is all the help I can give Merlin".

He turns to resume his walk, Ametha's disapproving eyes never leaving him.

The maze's egress opens on a wide copper crater filled with moving sand.

Ametha cannot hold her surprise when she catches Balinor purposely enter the muddy mouth that is poised to swallow him whole. "You are jesting, surely."

Balinor turns, offering her a wry smile, "No. The gate is below. You might have to hold your breath for sometime if you wish not your lungs to fill with sand".

His last word uttered, he dives into the dark red abyss. Ametha lets out a loud huff before casting an annoyed glance at a chuckling Syreth.

"After you Milady," he teases with a smirk before following her through the dusk coated void.

The fall first seems like descending stairs while wrapped in a tight drape of dust. She becomes the centre of a tornado growing around her, lifting her in the air until she lets out a scream when her back hits the rugged ground welcoming their arrival. She winces as she stumbles to her feet, clutching her side as she meets Balinor's amused gazed waiting for the others to pursue their route.

It is not long before Syreth and his men groan at their hurt limbs, victims of their fall.

Ametha chances a look upward, staring at the copper sky spiralling high over them.

"This way", Balinor orders, leading them through a dark bouldered tunnel. Their steps echo the scraping of little bats flying through the long rock-ribbed burrow, the craggy throat of an ancient monster that leads to the edge of a cliff.

They stop at the threshold of the abyss, sending little rocks fall toward what should be the closed gate of the Pythus.

_Should._

Ametha cannot rein on the sudden wave of fear coursing through her veins. She turns wild eyes to an equally terrified Balinor. They both fall to their knees, leaning over the edge of the cliff. To be sure. Willing what they saw to be just a cozened figment of their imagination.

Their pupils fall on the remnants of a golden door cracked upon, vilified by the angry fist of an invisible god. Splinters drown in a sea of amber lava circling around an empty black hole. Yet. No monster.

For the first time in twenty years, Ametha is afraid. Utterly terrified.

"No…"

* * *

The sun shines light and bright through the golden meadow that has never been painted by the sooty tinges of the night. Day never ends in the Light. Even less in Erythrea, where Brunhild savours the warm touches of the Sun on her milk coloured skin.

In the distance, a slew of guards tend to four blood tainted winged unicorns holding them by their saddle.

"You asked from my presence, My Lady"

Brunhild smiles at Aife's voice.

She turns to meet her vassal flanked with Lord Seifer.

"Indeed, Aife. I wanted to share the good news." She pauses, her red eyes locking with her Priestess's

"The Pythus has been successfully released."

She is pleased to catch the almost twitch in Aife's eyes, the almost flash of fear tinged with surprised that momentarily coated her pupils.

So much so that the Priestess doesn't even register when Lord Seifer positions himself behind her.

Brunhild offers another smile, smile replete with contained rage. "I will only offer you one chance of dying by your own hands. Because the death I have prepared for you is not even worthy of a human… Who is the other traitor in my court?"

Aife replies by a soft curve of her lips, "So you don't know? Do not expect me to tell you then."

Brunhild chuckles before meeting Aife's eyes once more, "Isn't it ironic, the fate of Priestess. They are right to say your lot is cursed. You see everything. Everything but your own demise. Pitiful end, don't you think?"

Aife shakes her head, "No Because as you said, I've seen everything. This is why I will die with hope in my heart."

Brunhild's features darken at the almost revelation.

"Lord Seifer. Now.", she cuts icily. Her eyes follow her Master of Guard drag her former Priestess toward the guards awaiting them.

They tie each of Aife's arms and legs to a unicorn. The feathered stallions are then pointed to each of the four directions, one north, one south, another toward the East and the last heading West.

Lord Seifer turns to Brunhild. When she nods, Aife's screams fill the peaceful meadow.

* * *

Dinner is well underway when they finally meet in the eastern wing of the Palace. Each has managed to exchange service with their fellow servants in the Dining Hall, among Camelot's Royals and their Witch Hunter guest, task revealing more difficult for Gwen hadn't it been for her friend Mary.

Merlin and Gwen tread carefully, steps silent as possible through the cloisters leading to the far right corridor, opening on the guest quarters.

Both servants ease themselves into the corridor, hugging the walls, eyes registering the nearest alcove to hide into lest unwanted guards happened to pass by.

"How far is the room?", Merlin asks, eyes darting around the long hallway.

"The last one in the far end corner".

As they reach closer to Aredian's room, Gwen suddenly stops dead in her tracks.

"Wha-?". Her raised hand silences him.

"Here, there's a recess there. Go, we have to hide."

A befuddled Merlin quickly follows her as they rush toward the nearest alcove. Gwen stands on her toes, and blows out the candle lighting up their hiding place, the dark curtain concealing them from unwanted attention.

The young manservant is about to question her behaviour when he hears footsteps, guards heading toward the room they were to rummage. Despite being holed up in the dark, Gwen can easily imagine the look on his face.

"They won't stay long. They just added the Guest quarters into their surveillance rounds for the Palace. Uther's orders.", she whispers to her friend.

It is not long before the sound of their steps and the clatter of swords clanging against armour pass them by before ebbing away through the cloisters.

Both servants step out of their hiding place, Merlin studying his friend with proud eyes, so much so that Gwen cannot suppress a reluctant smile, "What?"

"Truly impressive. You read their mind right?"

Gwen nods, "Heard more than read. I just hear them." She pauses, lips gathering into a wry smile, "I hear everyone truth be told."

Merlin sobers up at the hint of the weariness flashing in her eyes, "That must be painful, having this constant rattle inside your head?"

She lets out a heavy sigh, grateful she can share this with him. He is still deserving of her anger, rightfully so. But it would be a lie to ignore the swelling of her heart at the chance to have someone to talk to, someone who understands these new changes, how they affected her and still do.

Relief brings out a genuine smile to her lips, the brightest she's offered in a long while."It was horrible. Headaches, I though my head would split open. But I've learned to control it and I can soften it now. Not completely erase it but at least lower the voices."

She adds, her smile reaching her eyes, sparking a little glint of mischief, "And no Merlin, I don't purposely hear your thoughts. I do my utmost not to listen".

Her friend chuckles, welcoming the silent truce they have silently agreed upon, "Well that is a relief. For both of us"

"Indeed.". She takes his hand and leads him toward their destination, "Come. Dinner will not take forever. We don't have much time."

The finger of a shiver runs through her spine when they set foot in the room, memories of her questioning invading her mind, churning her belly in apprehension. She steels herself before helping Merlin investigate Aredian's motives for their downfall.

"What are we searching for precisely", she asks.

"I don't know. Something that might free Gaius and save ourselves. I guess we will know it when we'll find it", Merlin roams the room, taking in the abundant furniture to be inspected.

Calloused hands rummage through drawers, chests and cupboards, eyes leaf through stacks of papers searching for the piece of information, the sign that would help incriminate the Witch Hunter. To no avail.

She doesn't know what makes her look _there_ precisely. As if an invisible hand had poked her, prodded her to turn toward it. _There_, it said.

Gwen's eyes fall on the skull, that ugly skull-shaped makeshift inkwell that terrified her through her questioning with Aredian and haunted her nights afterwards.

She shakes her head, about to resume her search when she glances at the skull once again.

It was at the precise same spot that it had been during her interrogation.

Her hand tentatively touches it, trying to grab it but it doesn't move, glued to the table. That is when she studies the table and sees what she did not notice before. What seemed to be a table was actually a closed off chest with no opening, used as a writing desk.

"Merlin…"

The warlock turns to her, inches close enough to see her fidget with the skull. She stops, studies the makeshift inkwell never stained by dark liquid as its pearly ivory attests. A thought flashes in her mind and she slowly turns the skull to the right. Their breaths catch as a hidden drawer bursts open revealing its contents.

They retrieve one rather large box cut in oak tree and a paper with the invaluable information they have been searching for.

A date and a meeting place.

_Former slaughter house_

_After the execution_

Merlin opens the box to find neatly disposed little flasks made of translucent glass, although he doesn't quite see their contents. Each flask has a piece of paper slapped onto it with a name scribbled on the pearly cloth. Agatha, Marc, William, Gertrude … his eyes fall onto the one empty vial, set apart from the other bottles, with another name attached to it, written in red. Balinor.

Gwen reaches out and picks one of the flagons opening it. She almost gags as she shows Merlin its contents: burnt hair and what resembles a piece of charred tooth.

Her voice shakes as she reconciles the contents with their meaning, "Don't tell me this is…"

"His victims." Merlin nods. "And something tells me they are all magic"

"The Gods have mercy…"

The warlock spots a pile of flowers in the concealed drawer. He takes one bud, studying it. The herb seems like the outcome of Nature's whim, as if its nurturing hands meddled lilies and roses together, steeped the plant in tar to produce this newly discovered ink stained flower.

Gwen catches his movement and sidles closer to him, eyes lured by the night coloured plant he holds in his palm. She picks it from his hand, fingers caressing the runic flower. "I have never seen anything like it. What is it?"

Merlin shakes his head, "I don't know, Gwen. But I won't be surprised if it has to do with his plans to convict us al-"

"Shh", Gwen freezes, finger on her mouth, gesturing him to silence.

They wait, although the sound of footsteps he expects never come. Curiosity takes the better of him, "What did you hear?"

"Nothing. I can't hear anything", Gwen answers, uneasy. He casts her a befuddled look before she offers, eyes wild, "Arthur. He's nearby.".

"What? Arthur-", he doesn't have time to let his words out as the Prince opens Aredian's chambers, finding the two servants rooted to the spot.

"What in the Gods' name- ? I knew you were up to something when I didn't see you serving in the Dinner Hall.", he spits out through gritted teeth. He quickly closes the door locking it before turning hard eyes toward his somewhat companions.

Merlin steps forward as Gwen goes to tidy the room putting the box and the paper back into the drawer.

"I can explain", the warlock chances swiftly cut by his master.

"No need to explain, I am not daft", Arthur lets out, tone still cutting as his eyes never leave Gwen. He cannot quell his surprise when he sees her turn the skull and witnesses how the drawer goes back into its concealed place, the chest returning to its original form.

He huffs, angrily, arms crossed, as his eyes fall upon a contrite Gwen who doesn't meet his gaze while Merlin fidgets under the tension settling in the room.

"Did you find anything?" he eventually lets out. His manservant heaves a relieved sigh and proceeds to tell him of the drawer, the flasks and the names.

Through Merlin's excited babble, Gwen can hear Arthur inch closer to her, stopping a few feet away. Her eyes remain glued to the ground, palms going a little clammy as they enclose the dark flower they have found earlier.

She chances a look up when silence settles in the room. She finds Arthur standing right before her, arms crossed. She can see Merlin sidle backwards, as if stepping aside, taking the cue Arthur silently ordered him to. The warlock studies the little joust his friends partake in, Arthur trying to find Gwen's eyes, the maid doing her utmost to look everywhere but at him.

Gwen eventually plucks up the nerve to meet the Prince's gaze, swallowing thickly, lower lip tightly caught between her teeth. Her eyes lock with his, awakening that familiar sensation in her belly she tried to smother, noticing how the warmth seeping from his pupils belies the tight set of his jaw.

Her heart jumps when he takes her hand, cradling it in his palms. He carefully flicks it over and lifts every finger she had balled into a fist. A shiver runs through her when the pad of his finger traces the curve of her lifeline, each tickle sending a electric current through her. He picks the dark flower nestled in her hand.

"What is this", he asks, eyes never leaving hers.

She is grateful when Merlin answers for her, his voice timid, afraid to break the moment. It keeps her from turning into a stammering mess. She averts her eyes, tearing her pupils from his gaze to look down on her open hand enclosed in his much larger one. Pale against caramel. Sword calloused against soap roughened. The touch of his thumb flits over her palm, a tickling feather hovering in hesitation. She clears her throat, regaining some composure. "Can I have my hand back, My Lord?".

Her eyes turn upward finding the smug upturn of his lips, as he lets out a small chuckle. She can feel her senses scream in protest against the loss of the warm, calloused touch.

"Aredian will not be long. He went for a quick trip to the city before coming back here; You should leave. I will head first, take care of the guards. Tidy the room and report back to me for anything you find that might help Gaius."

Gwen nods as Arthur turns, heading out of the chambers. She lets out a sigh when he leaves Aredian's quarters. Merlin smirks.

"Not a word, Merlin. Not a word", she huffs

He grins now. "I didn't say anything".

* * *

As Arthur promised, no guard impedes their escape.

Gwen and Merlin tread toward Gaius's home, Merlin hoping one of his mentor's numerous dust covered books can reveal the nature of the flower they had found earlier.

The warlock's eyes are lured by the silhouettes of people tangled in a heated discussion, swathed in harsh whispers and contained rage. He stops dead when he recognizes Aredian's trademark hat, standing tall among two women he seems to bestow orders to.

Gwen's breath catches, her words echo what he had already noticed, "Merlin, these women… They were among the witnesses. They were the ones who reported the incident"

"Yes, they were".

The two friends hide behind a wall, studying the encounter. It is not long before Aredian ends the secret meeting and heads towards the Palace.

"Come on." Merlin starts behind the two women, Gwen in tow, as both friends follow the newly revealed companions of Uther's guest.

The two servants tread through the lower ward before stopping at the edge of the slums, watching as the women cross the fringes of the city, and pass by the cemetery.

"They are heading toward the Eastern entrance.", Gwen notices before turning to him, eyes shimmering with the promise of a reveal. "The former slaughter house. It's there, they're heading there."

Merlin nods, jaw set, "We have to go there before Aredian. Tomorrow morning, it's the only way before the execution. I must tell Arthur.".

Gwen nods as she studies the flower in her hands. "There's a chemist. Gallard. I know him. He will help us learn what this plant is. We don't have time to search for it in Gaius's books."

She leads her friend back toward the Lower Ward. The dirty streets are tucked in a sleep induced silence, if only for a few drunkards here and there and cats wandering through the night.

They arrive at a wooden door adorned with the chemist's emblem. Gwen knocks urgently, dredging Gallard from his well earned rest.

They can hear his heavy footsteps dragging him toward the door before his sleepy face offers a befuddled look toward the two youngsters. His features soften when his eyes fall on Gwen, the ghost of smile flitting on his lips.

"Gwen? What are you doing here this late?"

"We need your help. It is important. Can we come in?"

"Yes, of course", he steps aside, letting the two servants enter his shop.

"How can I help you?"

"Do you know what this is?", Gwen asks. She lays the dark flower on a nearby table. Both youngsters notice the tension setting on Gallard as he looks at them wild eyed.

"No", he stammers, "I have never… never seen this in my life"

Gwen frowns, suspicion growing.

_How did they find this? The Witch Hunter promised I would not be involved. _

"The Witch Hunter gave you this?", Gwen asked, meeting the increasingly fearful eyes of the chemist.

"I do not know what you are saying Gwen."

The young maid steps forward, eyes imploring, "Gallard, they will burn Gaius at the stake tomorrow if you do not tell me what happened. You know he did not do any of this. He was the one who helped your wife give birth to your twins. He helped us all. Should we fall sick or tired...he was there. We can't let him die at the hands of this Witch Hunter... Gallard, please."

"You must help us", Merlin adds, a touch more forceful.

The chemist slumps on a chair, a hand tracing a whisper over the dark flower. The creased lines of his features deepen through the coarsed skin, letting his internal turmoil seep from wary eyes.

He heaves a weary sigh, turning to Gwen. He picks the flower, holding it higher for his young audience to see, a teacher giving a lecture. "This is a Benalodus Abascithus. When minced and mixed with water and a drop of cider, it has the ability to make you see things, things that should not be seen."

Gwen sidles closer, putting a hand on his arm, a reassuring palm urging him to pursue, "The Witch Hunter… he ordered me to render the flower into a potion and sell it to two women he had previously handpicked."

"Both women testified on court", Merlin adds.

"He threatened to accuse me of witchcraft and burn me at the stake if I did not do his bidding."

Gwen shakes her head, hands cradling those of the old chemist. "We will not let him. Merlin and I; we will save Gaius. We only need you to tell your story to the court. It is the only way before he harms any of us."

Gallard hesitates, glancing around his shop. His life, really. "He threatened my family, Gwen."

"I know. But if we do not stand against him, he will kill Gaius and then what is to say he will not dispose of you as a troublesome witness. Help us."

She lets out a relieved sigh when the chemist offers a silent nod, her smile thanking him. "Call for me, and I will come to the court."

"Thank you", Merlin offers. He stands, addressing a sharp nod, his thanks, toward the old man before treading outside the shop.

The night's light breeze strokes his cheek while he waits for Gwen bidding farewell to the chemist after offering some more words of encouragement.

They decide to leave at the first touches of morning, heading toward the former slaughter house to capture the accomplices in Aredian's plan. With Arthur's help, to which Gwen did not protest. He would tell the Prince tonight.

They arrive at Gwen's home. An uneasy silence settles, a pregnant pause filled with hesitation. Merlin does not want to breach the subject, utter the three syllables wedged between them. _She's more her friend than mine,_ he thinks before freezing as he recalls Gwen's ability. As if on cue, the young maid turns to face him, arms crossed.

"I think we should tell Morgana.", she quietly states. "She could come with us, we could always use another helping hand. Especially one that knows how to wield a sword."

Merlin hesitates, averting his eyes, "I'd rather not Gwen. I do not think she can be of any help-"

"Of course she can, Merlin." Gwen finally snaps, her protectiveness for her lady sparking her annoyance. "Why does everything has to be a secret with you? She has every right to know about Aredian, what he plans and how we will try to stop him. He threatened her just after he tortured Gaius into his confession. She is like us. One of us. You kept the truth from her once, when she needed you and she hurt for it. Do not do it again."

"She is not to be trusted Gwen, " Merlin cuts out, memories of the royal ward's handling of Paladin rushing back through his mind.

"Well forgive me Merlin, but you have no right to talk about trust. I trust her. I will tell her everything and she will come tomorrow with us.", Gwen replies, tone brooking no argument.

The young warlock nods, acknowledging her decision.

He meets her eyes once more and he can feel her soften through his chastened gaze.

"I am sorry, Merli-"

"No, no. Forgive me.", He stops her, inching closer. "I shouldn't have questioned Morgana's loyalty. You are right, she is one of us and we have to work together."

He gathers her hands in his, offering a reassuring pressure. "You should go to bed. Tomorrow will be a long day."

She nods, turning to her home.

The warlock heads to the Palace, reporting their findings to Arthur. On his way back to Gaius's home, he passes by the royal ward's wing, glancing at the now perennially closed doors of her quarters. The uneasiness creeps back, shrouding him like a second skin. True he has no evidence of any wrong doing from Morgana. Still. These doors. Always closed. What he wouldn't do to learn what stirred behind these walls, in this chamber whose entrance is forbidden to him.

That night he drifts into a tormented sleep, the features of a blue eyed royal beauty haunting his dreams.

* * *

"You are leaving?"

Morgana tears her attention from the windowsill, where she had watched Merlin's late departure a moment ago. She turns to her mentor, eyes wide in surprise.

"I have to. My Queen is said to come to our shores so I have to meet her."

"Brunhild? She is coming to Camelot..."

"No, not to Camelot", Chryseis offers with a smirk, as she eases herself toward the chamber's hearth. She lets out a slight chuckle at her student's words, mulling over the soon to come events. "Although it won't be long before Camelot meets the Light's ruler."

"You can't go. You can't leave me now when Aredian is set on executing Gaius."

"I though we had an understanding Morgana, you must let him die.", Chryseis cuts icily.

"I know that!", the ward bites back through gritted teeth, "But he also threatened me. I am to be his next victim after he has finished with Gaius."

She inches closer to her mentor, as the Light's witch sets for her departure.

Angry blood circles meet her eyes; Chryseis's lips gather into a contemptuous smirk, "Aredian will not do anything. And if he tries to hurt you, call for me. I shall take care of him since you are such a _scared_ little girl."

Her mentor's words are frozen thistles stinging her already wounded pride. Anger flares through her chest._ I will show you_. "No. Go. _I_ will take care of him.", she lets out in a cutting tone.

Chryseis snickers, an amused smile tugging at her lips, "Suit yourself then."

The Light's wicth vanishes out of thin air swathed in ribbons of dark red smoke, leaving the royal ward once again alone in her dimly lit chambers, plotting the demise of Uther's guest. _I will show them all._

* * *

**Hey guys, first thanks a bunch for the very cool reviews and kind words. Much appreciated. Now that I kind of have a groove back i shall try to update every ten days if work doesn't come in the way. We're two thirds into the story, the last third will follow until the Sins of our Fathers episode (though there will be some drastic changes) and then WAR! Anyway, hope you enjoy :)**


	8. Chapter 8

_Day of the execution_

The blade sings, slicing the air. Left once, twice right, then left. The whisper of her feet sliding, stopping, painting abstract patterns on the stone, meddle with the tingling in the atmosphere, the quickening of her heart, the rasp gasps of her breath.

Morgana thrusts her sword forward; she knifes through her ghostly opponent, then swerves left slicing through invisible limbs.

She recalls the words of the sword master. She can still feel his smile, recognize the admiration in his eyes when he prided her on her swiftness and grace. Uncommon for her age, then.

A good swordsman first makes a feint (against his opponent), then seems to give him an advantage, and finally gives his thrust, reaching him before he can return the blow.

She does just that, leaning and turning, teasing her unseen sparring partner before she sidesteps and strikes the lethal blow.

She is welcomed by silence, in place of the raucous hullabaloo, songs by peasant and nobles alike, the Prince of Camelot would have warranted had he been the holder of the hilt.

But Morgana knows better now. She sees what common eyes cannot behold, she hears what thrives to be silent, she feels what should be left untouched. Silence is never truly standstill, it only reveals the stirring of time, the other life bustling around, hidden to the senses of unsuspecting humans.

Her eyes roam her unlit chambers, squinting against the darkness. The moon had yet to trade away its light to the Sun, enjoying its last moments of reign on the land.

It shall be over soon.

She twirls the blade, enclosing the hilt in a stronger grip. Her eyes turn amber as the corners of her mouth twitch, lazily leaning into the ghost of a smile.

_I shall be home soon._

* * *

Gwen rubs the sleep away from her eyes. Semblance of silence meets her, hugs her, coddles her for the borrowed time they have left. Her mind desperately clings to it, feeds on it like a ravenous starving man. It is too early for Camelot to wake up. Too early for her Camelot to stagger through another day of habits, and unsuspecting comings and goings.

Damp wood meets her cold feet, as she shakes the slumber away from her body. She falls back into her well rehearsed ritual, the normality turned into second nature. The only sense of security she can still call her own.

She cleans her home, her bones scream in defiance against the cold water she pours on her body, they then welcome the warmth of her servant frock that covers her figure.

She adjusts her cloak as she stops on the threshold of her home. A quick glance through the darkened dwelling twists her belly. She swallows the parting words she used to send, knowing the only response is the silence of the house, anticipating the warm touches of the still slumbering Sun.

The scent of the morning dew fills her nostrils, first heralding signs of dawn. The air is heavy, crushed under the weight of a sky holding rain filled clouds. She feels it on her shoulders, almost bending her back as she treads toward the castle, its stony walls jutting from the earth, towers like taunting swords thrust toward invisible gods.

She quickens her step, when the faint touches of the sun pierce their way through thick clouds. She must see her lady. Prepare her for their rescue of Gaius. Another one of their adventures.

Together. All together. Like old times.

A smile tugs at her lips, when memories of Ealdor rush back to her.

She wistfully hopes their quest will bring back the light that has been dimmed in the eyes of Morgana, in those of Merlin… even Arthur's.

Gwen shakes her head, willing unwanted thoughts away, replacing the fugacious blur of steely blue eyes and lambent golden strands by the weary features of the royal physician.

Gaius.

The name makes her walk faster, almost run towards the castle.

_We shall bring you home soon._

* * *

"Aife died"

Ametha schools her features into an inscrutable mask. Her fisted fingers, knuckles turned white, are the only signs of her turmoil. Her mentor died. Air leaves her lungs, her chest astringed, as she defiantly dares tears to moist her pupils.

"I am sorry, Ametha. I could not do anything".

She nods, eyes still trained on the dark soil. The clatter and bustling around them ebb away as she tunes her surroundings out. Ethelfleda's words echo in her mind, over and over like a blade twisting into a festering wound.

The familiar touch of cool fingers, fleetingly straightening her cloak, is like a balm to her stinging heart. She doesn't have to glance up to feel Syreth's worried eyes upon her. She leans against him, swallowing her grief, letting it ripen to anger. She has no use for sorrow. Anger, hatred, revenge. This she can use, this she can work with, bend to her will, feed on, build a renewed strength upon. There will be another time to grieve.

"Ametha?"

She looks up to meet Ethelfleda's wary features. The goddess still stands tall among Balinor's men. Rogue sorcerers, castaway druids and the last remaining dragon lord himself unconsciously shrink, recoiling against her presence, in awe of her might.

But Ametha can see that she too, as goddess of Oya as she might be, is desperately teetering on the edge, desperately evading a fate, they eventually might not escape.

She's never looked more human than in this moment, creased features lit by candlelight, the frailty uncovered in her shadow hovering over the walls of Balinor's quarters.

Ametha glances through the window, unto the dragon lord's dominion. An inner city build through earth and mud, stones and metal. Tunnels weave their way around trite dwellings rising out of the soil like unwanted creatures sputtered out of the Dark's womb.

The clang of metal is the remainder of life in the darkness, blacksmiths churning out armours and weapons while dwarves flay the stony skin of the Dark's soil, digging, and digging, ripping gold and silver never enough to feed the hunger in their eyes.

In many ways, the Dark is as wretched a world as the Light ever was; pieces of the same grand object, forever linked limbs of an abhorrent child.

"What should we do?", Ametha asks as she turns to her companions

"Go back to Asgard. This does not derail our mission.", the goddess replies. Ametha wonders what ever could.

Ethelfleda turns to an ever silent Balinor.

"How long before you can be ready?"

"We've been ready for twenty years."

"To kill Uther, not to save Camelot", the goddess remarks

Ametha watches as Balinor's usually subdued eyes sharpen. "Camelot can only be saved with Uther's death, Ethelfleda. One cannot be done without the other. Those were our terms."

"And they do stand. But Camelot remains"

The goddess words brook no argument, Balinor's nodding to Ethelfleda's order can attest to it.

"Camelot remains", the dragon lord echoes.

_What will be left of it_, Ametha thinks.

* * *

Blue eyes study the courtyard's flagstone. The grey squares of stone turn to alternative lines of black and white in her mind. The tiny figures, moving, leaving, rushing to their tasks, seem like pawns unsuspectingly caught in the invisible threads of a web. Threads that sometimes only she could see.

Morgana glances up, from her tower unto the horizon. The golden line of dawn, pricking between earth and sky, lures her eyes, announcing the sun's rising and with it a new dawn.

The ward returns to her desk, sitting before the chess game she had started long ago with Uther. At a time when her love for him was not tainted with betrayal and fear.

She looks upon other pawns unsuspectingly moving on other lines of black and white.

_It is more than a game. _She thinks. _I cannot lose._

She is startled with hurried knocks, scraping her door. Her maid's she recognizes, furrowing her brows.

"Come in".

She is greeted by sooty curls and an apologetic smile that instantly tug her lips into a smile of her own. "Gwen? What has you come here so early?"

"Forgive me My Lady, I hope I didn't wake you", Gwen manages to say in a huff, seemingly out of breath.

Morgana shakes her head, before treading toward her maid, reaching out to capture her soap roughened hands into her own. "Tell me, what couldn't wait until breakfast for you to come?"

"It's about Gaius"

Morgana stiffens, registering the dash of hope and excitement that brighten Gwen's eyes, when despair should have subdued them. "What about Gaius", she asks.

"We can save him!", Gwen lets out, enclosing Morgana's hands tighter between her palms, as if a child excitedly telling a story. And she does, revealing to Morgana her search for the truth with Merlin and their impending meeting with Arthur. Each of Gwen's words sends a chill through Morgana's spine, the whispers of Chryseis rushing back meddling with the bright notes of her friend's voice.

"So will you come with us? I told Merlin we couldn't leave without the best swordsman of Camelot". Gwen says happily, tearing the ward from her thoughts.

_She's never seemed so happy. Not since…_

Morgana's eyes meet Gwen's and she sees her friend's smile falter, uncertainty erasing the glint that sparkled in her brown pupils.

"Morgana?"

She heaves a sigh, steeling herself for what is to come. Her fingers travel to Gwen's cheek, softly caressing her skin, surprisingly smooth for a maid, before they tug wayward curls behind her ear.

"Do you trust me Gwen?"

Her friend lets out a forced laugh, surprised by her question.

"Of course I do"

"Would you do anything for me?"

Her blue eyes lock with startled brown ones, Gwen's brow furrowing, confusion creasing the lines of her forehead. "I would go to hell and back for you. You know that".

Morgana cannot suppress the flare of pleasure that swells in her chest at her words. It warms her heart and strengthens her resolve.

She cups Gwen's face between her palms, trapping her friend's eyes in her steely gaze. "Then trust me when I say we should stay quiet. Stay with me today. Do not do anything. I can save us."

Gwen's eyes widen, "What are you saying, Morgana? We must save Gaius."

Morgana shakes her head, a sympathetic smile adorning her lips. Her thumbs trace circles on Gwen's cheeks, bringing her face closer to hers, a breath away from a kiss, close enough to share a secret.

"No we don't. Gaius is not who he seems. He's done things, Gwen, terrible things. Things you could not imagine. He had us all fooled. I know you love him like a father but he hurt our kind. He nearly destroyed it. He could hurt you too. But I will never let him"

Gwen's hands grip Morgana's wrists, gently tugging them away as she takes a step back. Morgana watches her take in her words, seemingly letting them seep through her mind.

"But… Morgana, I don't understand… Gaius, he protected us, he was there for all of us, always"

The ward's eyes sharpen, although quickly softening under Gwen's frightened gaze. She hurries back to her maid, reclaiming her hands. The need to keep her friend, _her_ Gwen, safe from all evil burns through her like a fire even Chryseis could never extinguish.

"Protected us? Gwen, he drugged me. All those years, all those draughts. They were drugs. He knew what I was. He knew just like Merlin did. Even before Merlin did. But he kept mum. He drugged me, trapped me in a prison, let me believe that I was turning mad."

"Perhaps he wanted to save you from Uthe-"

"What about all those magic people he and Merlin killed for Uther's sake? What about him having had magic but not telling anyone? What about him helping Uther kill my family, Gwen?"

Gwen rakes trembling hands through her curls, as she shakes her head, seemingly unable to hear her words.

Morgana tries to reign on her frustration, smothering the snappish words of a princess denied her favourite toy.

"I can't just stand on the sidelines and watch him die. How do you know he did all this, perhaps he didn't have a choice"

Morgana exhales sharply, eyes briefly turning amber, "I thought you trusted me?"

"I do", Gwen replies hurriedly, although her voice is too bright, recoiling from the tension settling in the air. "But we need proof, I can't just have his blood on my hands, let him burn for mistakes he might have made in his past. If he must pay, he should be tried or-"

Morgana cannot reign on her acerbic tone this time. "And pray tell who do you suggest should try him. Uther? Aredian? Already done. Arthur? Forgive me Gwen, but Arthur will forever be swayed by his need to earn his father's approval. Who, then? Tell me."

She can see Gwen lower her head. She watches her wring her hands worriedly, nails digging through her palms.

As Morgana steps toward her, Gwen raises her head, weary eyes meeting the expecting ones of her mistress.

Waves of fear spool around Morgana's heart when she deciphers an apology in her maid's eyes.

"Do you know what you are asking of me, Morgana?", Gwen croaks, fighting tears.

Morgana stops in her tracks. She can sense the familiar poison of anger seeping though her, rendering her as cold as the words she lets out in a curt whisper.

"I do. You are the only one I could ask such a thing. I thought you would understand. If Gaius did to you a third of what he did to me, I would have burned the world to avenge you."

Gwen closes her eyes and only offers a nod. She whispers "Forgive me, Morgana", before turning toward the door.

"You do know I can stop you, don't you? I can stop that little adventure of yours in a flick of fingers." Her eyes never leave her maid's back. They register how her spine straightens, how her hand stops, hovering over the doorknob.

"I know", Gwen replies. She turns to face her, eyes softened, the light gone seemingly replaced by weariness. "But I hope you won't"

Morgana snorts. "Because otherwise you would hate me, wouldn't you?", she challenges, eyes hard toward her maid.

She is surprised when Gwen offers a despondent smile, shaking her head. "No, I could never hate you, Morgana. Never"

Gwen locks eyes with her and Morgana shivers at the defeat reflected in her pupils "But I will never forgive you".

The words stab through her. Her heart falls, air leaving her lungs and she is left stunned as she watches Gwen turn her back to her, hurriedly disappearing from her room.

The sense of loss is eerily familiar, tethered to dreams she hoped would never find root in truth.

Her eyes turn to the pawns. Unsuspectingly trapped in lines of black and white.

_I cannot lose._

_I cannot lose her._

* * *

Gwen rushes through the courtyard, already late to meet Arthur and Merlin. Her heart drums in her ears, the serrated edges of fear tearing at her stomach.

Her mistress's words swirl through her mind, eddying through her certitudes and she almost chokes out on every breath as the sinking feeling of loss, shrouded into something akin to betrayal, settles through her belly.

She passes by the executioner's block, eyes lured by the dried marks of blood staining the wood. A shiver runs along her back, the recollection of screams and haunted eyes rush back.

The fallen victims of Uther's wrath and creeping madness ghost around the block of wood, their presence, an unspoken warning, stronger as the execution nears.

Tonight, she might mourn another loss. If they fail, she might have to summon the mere tears left in her, then bury another familiar face, throw another name into the memories of those who left her too soon. And tomorrow she will be expected to shrug it off, wash the sorrow from off her skin, and bestow her masters a thankful smile as she was spared that fearful fate.

Anger suddenly burns bright through her, a lightning current that courses through her veins, and Gwen welcomes it, sharpens it to strengthen her resolve.

She picks her skirts and runs towards the Lower Ward, she passes the slums, heading toward her meeting point. The anger burns brighter when the silhouette of Arthur settles into the horizon, each outline becoming clearer as she nears the horses and Merlin's voice.

She cannot make sense of, nor reign on the cold ire that smoulders through her as she draws toward the search party. _Fault. All their fault. Your fault._

Arthur is the first to turn and lock eyes with her, as ever the more attuned to her, her presence, so much so it frightens her sometimes, as if she breathed under his skin.

His welcoming smile falters when he takes in her appearance, the remaining wisps of resentment suffusing through her body and altering the already tense mood.

"Gwen, are you alright", the prince asks frowning. He shares a quick glance with Merlin, before reverting his attention back to her.

Gwen doesn't answer, doesn't trust herself, nor her words anymore. She only offers a curt nod and turns to Merlin.

"Morgana is not coming", she lets out, voice clearer than she would have expected.

The words are like sharp razors on her tongue, bile burning her throat and a part of her screams for her to forsake her guilt, her need for justice in this rotten place she called home. For an instant, she wants to leave them all behind and run back to the only place she can be whole, back to Morgana's blue eyes, always assessing, perpetually demanding, and her love, uncompromising, undivided, sometimes smothering but always unyielding.

She deciphers a tinge of relief in Merlin's pupils, meddling with his surprise and it feeds her resentment once more.

The warlock seems to pick up on her anger as he only offers a nod. He takes the reins of the horse near him and brings him to her. "We will ride together... but I can go with Arthur if-"

Gwen shakes her head and goes to put one foot in the spurs when she feels strong hands, Arthur's hands, on her waist, lifting her to put her atop her mare. She settles herself on the steed's back not sparing the Prince any glance, as she feels his eyes, heavy on her.

She trains her eyes on her hands holding the reins, her grip tightening, burning her palms, the longer she feels him staring at her. The Prince finally draws a frustrated breath, "Gwen-" he whispers before she cuts his words, shaking her head.

"We must go" is her calm but resolute dismissal.

His sole reply is to sharply turn to his own steed, passing a nervous Merlin. She lets go of the burning leather as the dark mop of hair appears beside her and moves as best as she can to let him settle in front of her.

Her hands circle his waist when he spurs the mare forward and she allows herself a last glance toward the royal castle before everything blurs into touches of green and beryl.

* * *

He inhales the fresh scent of morning, as fresh as it can be in an ever growing and over populated kingdom.

Uther stands tall on the ramparts, overseeing his heritage, his home and what should be his legacy.

_I made it what it is._

He makes a point to be the first to wake up on days like these, the first to welcome the new dawn, the first eyes to lay upon that block where an ever growing number of people, his people, have met their demise. His way of paying his respects as he likes to think.

_People think me cruel, as I should be. As a king should be, as their protector should be._

His eyes roam through his dominion, flitting from North to East, South to West only to land on the bustling bees working in the courtyard. He watches as they set up the pyre that will mark another strike against magic, another severed limbed to stop the spreading of this resurging festering wound he had found no ailment yet to completely wipe out.

Cleansing. It is how he has always seen his home, the city that became his own. In perpetual need of cleansing. He felt linked to this kingdom not by his heart, not by the sentimental ties his son, his mother or his late wife had with the people. No, he felt these lands, these streets, these _people_ in his very bones, pricking right under his skin.

On morning like these, when he witnesses commoners run around the city like busy little bees, his skin thrums, pricks and buzzes with the sound of insects invading the quiet streets of his dominion like they would eat at the wood of his chambers.

This is why the cleansing was necessary, especially when among these people, these insects, some of them were more poisonous than others, were carrying a pest that could spread dissent and chaos into his kingdom.

And he would have none of that. The grand purge he had carried out twenty years ago had purified most of his lands but as any strong disease, pockets of infestation still remained, to remind him that no war is ever completely won. So he had days like these to remember never to let his guard down, never to forget this constant prick in his skin.

"I see that I do not need to oversee the execution, My Lord has already taken up to that task."

He smirks, the words of the Witchfinder tearing him out of his reverie, as his guest stops near him, eyes cast over the courtyard.

"You know how involved I am to the matters of safety for this kingdom", he replies wryly.

"True.", Aredian turns to him, his grim attire shaping him into the reaper he has become.

"Although I will always wonder if you rule out of genuine love or deep hatred for this land"

Uthers offers a small smile, eyes never leaving the castle's flagstone. "I rule out of duty."

"A loaded word, Sire. A double edged principle-"

"But the only principle that works." Uther cuts, this time meeting Aredian's eyes.

The Witchfinder nods in acknowledgement, "So much so that it will cost you your must trusted adviser. The one who helped you win the war."

Uther's features remain placid as he mulls over the mercenary's words. He turns back to stare into the horizon, blue pupils turned pale grey perpetually lured back to the stained wood of the soon to become pyre. "A King's path is littered with sacrifices and loss. The necessary means to an end."

He senses the Witchfinder hesitate and turns to him, an expectant eyebrow raised.

"And what of Morgana then, Sire?"

His eyes sharpen meeting those of the mercenary. "What of Morgana?", he coolly asks back.

Aredian frowns and his stiffened stance doesn't escape Uther, "Your Grace does know how thorough I am in my work. I like to finish what I start"

"So then you should focus on the maid. I will personally deal with Morgana.", Uther replies. His lips curve into a smirk, tone lighter, "Besides, you should be down there on the courtyard, surveying the building of the pyre. Your oldest enemy is to be handed a most ill fate by your hands."

Aredian doesn't answer and Uther nods in satisfaction. He is about to walk back to his chambers when the Witchfinder's inquiry stops him in his tracks, "Why fire, Sire?"

He offers a wistful smile before responding, "It cleanses everything;"

The smile still tugs at his lips as he regains his quarters.

* * *

The former slaughterhouse is eerily quiet in these first touches of morning. A ray of sunlight cants into a curve on the remaining walls of the ruins. The sound of their horses weaving their way through the seldom visited path tear through the silence of the meadow, and Merlin slightly trembles when the sky groans under the heavy weight of the soon to come downpour.

They tread carefully behind Arthur who inspects every branch, every pattern on the muddy road to lead them over to Aredian's accomplices.

Another cry from up above, the booming sound of an aching sky, reverberates around them and Merlin feels Gwen's fingers cling harder to the fabric of his jacket. He can still feel the remaining wisps of her anger melt into the wind, as they tread further through the woods, not far from the eastern edge of the kingdom.

Arthur suddenly raises his fist, stopping before a canopy of trees, the path turning left. Instead of treading along the turn, the prince steps down his horse and kneels before the trees, his eyes studying the mud before staring along the road to his left.

He goes back to climb on his horse before spurring his steed toward the trees.

"But-", Merlin starts, stopping short as Arthur throws him an irritated glance, raising his eyebrow in challenge.

The warlock slams his mouth shut and they follow the Prince. They weave their way through the trees, ducking their head to avoid the scratch of branches and leaves. Merlin chances a glance upward, noticing how the blackened clouds have darkened their surroundings, the light breeze of the morning ripening into forceful gusts of wind, making their treading forward even more difficult, as if forcing their way through a thickened wall of wood and leaves.

His eyes widen as a ray of sunlight flashes through and uncovers the outlines of a meadow, hidden to the wandering eyes of travellers. They reach the edge of the clearing, their presence concealed by the trees before them, and they can make out the walls of a wooden cabin standing in the middle of the prairie. Arthur remains behind the makeshift cover of the trees, circling the meadow.

The sound of their horses is swallowed by the now thunderous sky and the ghouls of wind seem to eddy away, as if deposing them in the eye of a tornado. Arthur stops when they are the nearest from the entrance of the cot, a few steps away left to the door.

They dismount their mares and go to kneel behind a wall of bushes at the heels of the meadow. They wait in the silent clearing, senses sharpened, attuned to any sound betraying a human presence.

"Stay here", Arthur orders, as he goes to survey the surroundings. Merlin turns to Gwen when the Prince is out of earshot, "Can't you-?"

"No", Gwen shakes her head, "I can't hear anything."

Merlin nods, his surprise washed away when his eyes fall on the silhouette of Arthur. Understanding dawns on him as he lets out an "Oh" and his pupils register Gwen's stiffened stance.

The Prince doesn't take long before coming back to them, hands holding his sword and a crossbow.

His features turn hard, eyes focused, as he instinctively slithers into the second skin of the soldier, muscles taut and focus sharpened anticipating the upcoming battle.

"I've counted three people, two men and a woman.", Arthur recounts, matter of factly, "Merlin, you and I will approach the house. If we're lucky, they will not have noticed our presence and no fighting will be necessary. Gwen, stay back and wait for us", he orders.

Merlin can sense his friend's temper flair as Gwen frowns, letting out in a curt tone "I can fight, My Lord."

Arthur's heaves a sigh before turning an annoyed glare toward Gwen, enough to chastise the fool hardy but not enough to bend the maid's will as she stubbornly glares back. Merlin suddenly feels like an intruder thrust in an intimate conversation he should not be privy to and, not for the first time, he wishes the ground could swallow him whole.

Arthur's lets out a bitter chuckle, "I am well aware you can fight, which is why you will be our cover", he replies handing Gwen the crossbow he had been holding, hard eyes trained on her.

Gwen's temper seems to deflate in an instant, eyes averting those of the Prince to lay upon the crossbow. She seems to wilt, her anger washed away, as she takes the weapon, effectively chastised. The warlock watches as Arthur softens when seeing the maid's shoulders slump, as the Prince winces against his harsh tone. He clears his throat, turning to Merlin.

The warlock nods and stands to follow him, not before sending a reassuring smile toward Gwen.

"Please, try not to get killed, you wearing no chainmail means I am the one assigned to your protection", Merlin offers in an attempt to lighten the mood.

It does the trick as Arthur snorts, eyes however trained on the nearing lodge.

Suddenly the door bursts open, a wall of arrows storms toward them and it all turns to a blur. Merlin can hear Gwen scream before Arthur grasps his neck and makes him fall to the floor. He feels the sharp rush in the air as the weapons land near him, stabbing through the ground.

He doesn't have time for a reprieve as he registers in the corner of his eye the moving tips of other arrows advancing at lightning speed towards them and he doesn't think. Instinctively, his hand rises in a familiar gesture he's tried to rule upon but to no avail. He feels the warmth stir in his belly and before his reason tries to command upon it, his eyes flash amber.

The wave of arrows turns upon itself and speeds through as the air shifts, back toward the cabin, stabbing through wood, shattering windows and eliciting the strangled cry of sliced flesh.

Awareness comes back like a bolt of lightning through his heart as he turns terrified eyes to the left, just in time to lock with Arthur's bewildered ones.

A sharp intake of breath and the world stills. His vision turns red. He croaks a gasp as he feels the pointy and sharpened steel tear through his skin, arrow encasing itself into his shoulder. He falls to the ground as he sees a man bolt out of the wooden cot, running towards Arthur, sword raised, eyes black, veins bulging. Another figure follows him, a woman, bow in her hands and in the blink of an eye he sees her fall, the grey tip of iron impaled in her leg.

He turns his head and his eyes fall on Gwen lowering her crossbow, brows knit in anger and Ealdor flashes through his mind. The maid lets go of the weapon, running toward him, concern shimmering in her eyes.

For a mere moment his surroundings become touches of ardent colours, sound muffled as the world slows around him, every move, every shift in the air burning an imprint in his psyche. Another breath and everything speeds again, the ground shivers with the pounding of feet, ducking, turning, running, as Arthur fights his opponent.

Red. Coppery. Black.

Arthur's sword slices the man's thigh, red liquid pouring on the ground.

It meddles with the rain that start pouring from the sky.

Merlin feels Gwen's trembling hands as she tries to drag him out of the clearing. The warlock wills his limbs to move and they crawl back but his feet betray him and he falls again to the ground, unable to bridle the sharp cry that forces through his lungs as pain tears his shoulder again, spreading through his entire body.

Another blur and another attacker out of the door. The second man runs, sword thrust toward them. He sees Gwen search for the crossbow but a hit from the attacker's sword and the weapon goes skidding feet away from them. Gwen ducks another attack but trips on the muddied ground. Merlin screams as hard as he can, as the man sets to hit his friend, when Arthur throws a dagger that slices his way through the air and goes to stab through the man's spine.

The attacker croaks out a shriek, mouth filling with blood as the sword falls from his hands and his body stumbles onto the ground.

Gwen rushes to her crossbow and runs back to Merlin. Rain pelts angrily against the dark soil, and Merlin stands with Gwen's help as Arthur draws tall above his wounded opponent. The prince picks his assailant's sword and stabs it through his thigh, trapping the steel between flesh and bone.

He turns toward Merlin, and the warlock shivers at his eyes, bereft of any warmth, of anything Arthur. He treads towards the house, enters the cabin and steps over the woman still nursing her wounded leg. Merlin turns to Gwen, they exchange worried glances, rain dribbling over their skin, as his friend stands guard, crossbow raised.

They see Arthur storm out of the cabin, tying the woman's hands before treading toward their first attacker crying out for help, as he tries to take the sword out of his leg.

Merlin feels fear twist his belly in knots, the focused yet placid look on Arthur's features letting him know where this was headed.

He feels Gwen bristle beside him, faltering in her stance, lowering her weapon. Their eyes stay glued to the Prince as he stops above the squiggling man.

"Who are you working for?", Arthur lets out, tone calm, belying his stiffened posture.

The man stops, locking eyes with the prince before chuckling, blood sputtering through his teeth, "You and you royal ass can go fuck off" he offers, with a red smile.

Arthur replies with a smile of his own, before reaching out and forcing the sword further through his thigh. Merlin closes his eyes shut as the man bellows in pain. He feels Gwen's hand circle his wet palm and hold it tight into her very own.

Arthur lets go of the sword, eyes dark toward his opponent, "Who are you working for?", he asks once more, tone still flat.

The man's breathing turns ragged, hands holding his thigh, blood beading from his chin. He stares at the Prince, "I said you can go-"

"Yes I know", Arthur cuts, "I can go fuck off".

He takes the hilt of the sword and in a sharp gesture removes it from the wound. The man's cry is cut short by another stab through his knee.

Gwen's hand tightens around Merlin's.

The man spits blood and saliva as his chest heaves with difficulty, wild eyes locked with the Prince's darkened ones. His cries seem to clog his throat, his widened pupils the only testament to the unbearable pain.

As Arthur's hand draws toward the sword, the man croaks, voice forcing its way through a thick curtain of bile and blood, "A-... Aredian"

Arthur doesn't answer, only pushing the sword further more into the knee. The man's agonizing shriek meddle with the sound of crunched bones and he cries like a madman reciting a mantra "Aredian, please stop, oh gods, it's Aredian, it's AREDIAN!"

The screams turn louder, Merlin feels them right into his gut, as he becomes increasingly unable to withstand their sound, "Arthur, stop. He said his name. Just stop now!"

Arthur sharply removes the blade and hurls it into the ground. He turns to Merlin, eyes blazing with repressed anger, and Merlin swallows thickly, his throat rendered dry.

"Stop? Did you just tell me to stop? And who are you to order me? You lying bastard."

A shiver runs along the warlock's spine, as he sees Arthur approach him, hands balling into fists, fury dripping from every pore.

"All this time, lying to my face. I trusted you, and you, fucking bastard, you took me for a fool-"

"No", Merlin lets out, rushing toward the Prince, eyes pleading, "I never took you for a fool. I- ... I was protecting you... it was for your own good-"

"For my own good? What own good? Oh yes because I am too fucking dumb to understand? DO NOT LIE TO ME!"

The warlock's reply is muffled by a strangled cry as Arthur's fist hits his face, knocking him to the ground.

"Arthur Pendragon!", he hears Gwen shout before running toward him. He feels Gwen's wet palms against his face before her hands help him stand and face the Prince.

This time fear ripens into the anger he had smothered for his master's benefit, as he was finally handed the chance to act upon it. Something unravels, the dam breaks and he revels in the righteous fury that washes over him, strengthening limbs and making him forget his wounds.

He meets the Prince's hard eyes head on

"Yes. You were too fucking dumb. Too fucking oblivious to your people. Too fucking arrogant, self centered, selfish to care about someone other than you. Too fucking blind to see what people like me, like Gwen who you claim to care for, endure every day. I was waiting for the right fucking moment. The moment YOU WOULD FUCKING GROW UP!"

Merlin ends his tirade out of breath, holding onto Gwen's arm as a weight was lifted, the strange sense of loss alleviating his heart. He sees Arthur's stunned features slowly recompose themselves into an inscrutable mask, although the flash of hurt in his pupils doesn't escape him and the servant's chest constricts instinctively. They stare at each other, the warlock's wide, fearful pupils meeting the Prince's grey eyes. Merlin register the tinge of betrayal in Arthur's eyes, his jaw set, brows knit as if reconciling the injured man standing before him, with the powerful warlock who saved his life countless times or the clumsy servant who became his right hand man.

"Sire?" Gwen's whispered word seems to dredge Arthur out of his thoughts as he nods, wiping his bloodied hands on his tunic. It feels like a final acceptance, the shifting point in their lives, the moment when the world is reshaped. The Pendragon heir turns towards a silent Gwen, clinging to Merlin as much as he does to her. She cannot meet his eyes, and the Prince cannot reign on his faltering features this time.

He heaves a sigh at long last, "Take Merlin to the horse. And let's head home."

"What about the others?", Gwen whispers

"I'll send a search party to come for them", he replies

Arthur doesn't wait for an answer as he turns toward the tortured man. Merlin watches as he carries him over his shoulder, unperturbed by his wailing and goes to tie him to his horse.

The warlock winces when Gwen helps him climb their mare, and he clings to her waist with his uninjured arm.

It is not long before they gallop full speed to put a stop to Uther's never ending madness.

* * *

The towers of Asgard draw near, as her party enters Obadiah's Kingdom. Ametha turns to Syreth who offers a small smile of reassurance before treading toward the Iron Gate.

As they tread farther through the lands, carving their way through thick woods, they are welcomed by the clatter of forges and the stench of burned meat.

Ametha frowns as she notices eyes on her, some with the faint touches of an apology, others puzzled coated with sheen of suspicion.

The walls of the castle jut from the ground, soil turned black as tar, unwilling casualty of the preparation to war. A shiver runs down Ametha's spine as the features of a familiar face, another witch, appear in the line of her vision. The witch's silhouette stands tall, arms behind her back, waiting for them at the entrance of the courtyard.

They stop a breath away from her, Ametha dismounts her steed and approaches another of Brunhild's vassals.

She nods in acknowledgement, enough to show a respect she doesn't really share. "Chryseis. I thought you were in Camelot."

The witch offers the distorted features of a smile, and Ametha remembers why she never truly warmed to her peer. "Indeed, I was. But our Queen summoned me here. A matter of treason, she said."

She pauses, seemingly gauging Ametha's features before adding in a light tone, "You've been informed about Aife, haven't you? I know how you too were somewhat ... _close_."

"Yes, very." is Ametha's reply. She is about to order Syreth away when the stench comes back again to prick her nostrils. Burned meat.

As if reading her mind, Chryseis smile widens. "Ah, yes. I have to show you something."

Ametha locks eyes with her and dread coils in her belly.

She turns to Syreth who nods at her silent orders, taking her men back to their camp, before following Chryseis. They enter the courtyard, and the stench becomes heavier, taking over the air in her lungs. They draw near the entrance of the castle, soldiers and witches gathered in a circle, slithering out of their way, eyes upon her.

When the crowd parts, her eyes fall on a burning stake, and she falters in her steps when she recognizes a still burning body attached to it. She stops, questioning eyes toward Chryseis.

The witch nods, eyes assessing, "My messenger came back and it seems our dear Etna was consorting with the enemy. Well, at least, she held valuable information. And you know how Brunhild is with traitors... Strange though how she claimed her innocence until the very end. Ah well, you too loathed each other. I assume it is good riddance for you."

Ametha does not answer, eyes lured back to the burning stake. The poisonous feeling of guilt stuns her into silence. Etna should have never been in harm's way. Brunhild was not to come before the attack; Chryseis was to stay in Camelot. She was to come back and have Syreth protect Etna. The Pythus would not have been released. Aife should not have died. How could they have all been so blind?

She tries to reign on her features, feeling Chryseis eyes skitter on her skin, waiting for the one faltering look to instigate her demise.

The sound of approaching steps tears her from her thoughts, eyes cast toward the castle and she can make out her Queen's figure as she draws near her.

She curtsies deeply before locking pupils with dark red ones. Brunhild's lips curve into a smile, in stark contrast to the calculating eyes roaming her features, studying her every move.

"My Queen", Ametha lets out, tone flat, voice clear.

"Ametha. I am sorry for your loss. But our dear Etna betrayed us. Betrayed me.", her smile turns sour, "We are at war. I did what was necessary."

"I understand", Ametha lets out, nodding at her Queen's words. "Although, I would have wished we were not sent on a useless mission. I've lost four men, all of this to release a Pythus that had already been freed."

Brunhild's smile turns into a smirk, eyes still bereft of any warm tincture. "Well, you were our cover. If our allies did not succeed I knew I could count on you and your men."

The Queen sidles nearer, stopping a breath away from her, blood circles sharpening into fiery pools. "And I knew I could count on your loyalty."

Ametha meets her eyes, her turn to smile, "As always, My Queen".

* * *

_2 days after the execution_

The Witchfinder yanks on his chains, vying to reign on the anger smouldering within him. In twenty years, he has never felt this powerless, this humiliated. In all his killings of magic practitioners, never had he thought that the heralds of his demise would be these little children, these insignificant servants.

"Fucking bastards", he spits as the features of the young warlock, the maid and that bloody Prince rush back to him. He was so close to exact revenge on that decrepit traitor. He revelled in the pain he witnessed through Gaius agonizing screams, as the fire lapped relentlessly at his feet, before scarring his flesh.

All had been going so well, until the Prince of Camelot's arrival, his order to stop the execution. He knew his fate was sealed when he met his accomplice's weary eyes, tied to that horse.

_Should have disposed of this son of a whore the first chance I got._

Just like that chemist. Gallard. His testimony and the arrest of his men sealed his guilt and a lifetime in Uther's cells.

Uther.

Over twenty years of service and he didn't raise a single finger to help him. That snake was even more dangerous than he had thought. And now, he's reduced to a bloody criminal, all his loyalty to Uther, his crusade against magic, the lands he saved from this evil forgotten, turn into wisps into the wind. Gone.

Anger burns his throat, rendering his mouth dry. "Guards!", he croaks out.

Silence

"Guards! Water, please. Can a poor soul get water in these gods forsaken cells?"

More silence.

"Guards!", he lets out more forcefully, expectantly waiting for one red cape to come to him.

When the creaking of his chains is the only sound surrounding him, his puzzlement coil into dread, tautening his senses.

"Guards", he bellows, heartbeats thrumming under the drumming of fear that pound in his ears.

He freezes when he is offered a response at long last. Although not the one he had been expecting.

"They're not here", comes the soft lilt of her voice. "No one's here."

He sharply turns, eyes wide as he registers the shape of her silhouette, hinted at in the dark recess of his cell. "What- who are you? Show yourself!"

His order is met by the canorous notes of a chuckle, a ladylike snort that alters into a genuine laugh.

"I do not think you are in any position to give orders, My Lord", the woman replies.

He doesn't have to wait long before his eyes lock with those of Uther's ward. The stir in his belly deepens, turns heavier into knots twisting his lungs, rendering him unable to breathe.

Morgana slithers closer to him, her features partially covered by her cloak as she offers Aredian a sweet cherry smile.

Aredian yanks on his chains again, well aware it is to no avail. He sends her a contemptuous smirk, eyes betraying the dread he tries to conceal. "Another traitor comes to visit me I see. I would say it is an honour but it would be an offense to lie to a lady."

Her smile widens and turns to something snake like that pricks his skin. "Oh I know, Lord Aredian. You and I will never truly see eye to eye, won't we?"

He scoffs, desperately seeking to bargain some time, in hope a wandering guard would come to his rescue, the ward's eyes not allowing any doubt as to the reason of her visit. " Do not think that because they stopped me, you will escape the fate you deserve. Uther will burn you to the stake sooner than you think."

Morgana nods, letting out a soft resigned sigh, "I know that too."

He steels himself as ribbons of amber start to coat her blue pupils. "Do not fret, Aredian. This will certainly hurt less than what you put your victims through", her voice chills him even more, tone turning sharp as a razor as red lips curve into the sour mimic of another smile.

He feels his chest constrict, his heart coil into itself, air turning rare, breathing becoming an excruciating pain. His mouth is wide as his throat clogs on blood, nostrils filling with the heavy liquid that makes him drown in his own fluids. He falls to the ground, body paralyzed, limbs contorted like a twisted broken doll, his dilated pupils the only testimony of the agony Morgana was putting him through.

The ward lowers herself, kneeling beside him. Her whispers stab through his ears, "Shhh, it will be over soon. Your heart will shatter; your lungs will fill with blood and burst inside you and you will meet the wretched end you deserve."

Her soft eyes and cherry lips are the last things imprinted in his memory. His pupils fill with dark red. And the world achingly turns black.

* * *

_3 days after the execution_

Arthur rakes a hand through his hair, finishing with reports on the kingdom as candlelight flickers through the room. The night has dripped down on the dusky sky like shimmering tar, glistening stars slipping through its dark colored veil.

He has been working for days on endless reports, especially concerned by the growing accounts of tainted water sources in the villages on the edges of the kingdom. Three days hauled up in his quarters, when he is not foreseeing the training of young garrisons or attending his Father in courtly meetings. Three days he has successfully avoided both Merlin and Gwen after their rescue of Gaius.

Gaius. If only they had come sooner. If only they had galloped a breath faster.

He shakes his head, smothering unwanted thoughts in the hadal recess of his memory upon hearing the muffled knocks scraping the door of his chamber.

"Come in", he lets out in a tired voice.

The Prince cannot reign on his surprise when no other than Uther's ward sidles through the door, a soft smile adorning her lips. He offers a raised eyebrow that only widens the faint upturn of her lips. "Morgana, are you lost? I can't even remember the last time you came to my chambers.", he offers, smirk firmly curving his mouth.

He chuckles as Morgana rolls her eyes before sitting right across from him, the table the only barrier between them, "is that a way to welcome a lady to your chambers? Well, I forgot you have a way with words when dealing with the weaker sex."

Arthur scoffs, "there was a time you had no qualm about my way with words, if I recall correctly".

"Not funny", she chides, amused.

Arthur's lips twitch into a cheeky smile, setting the mountains of paper aside, "so to what do I owe the pleasure of your presence, My Lady?"

Morgana scoffs in mock hurt, "Can't I visit you without a specific reason?"

"No", he replies blue eyes meeting the darker shade of hers. "Not you".

Morgana smirks, offering a mere shrug as she tightens the shawl wrapping her shoulders, "It's been awhile that's all. Me in this room..."

Arthur nods, eyes still assessing her, "It sure has been. The last time you stormed out of this room, you treated me of names even I am too embarrassed to utter and hurled a vase toward this pretty little face of mine as you liked to call it"

Morgana's soft laugh echoes through his chamber's walls, "Ah yes, our fights used to be grand."

"They sure did."

"And Uther thought this was part of our courting"

Arthur lets out a small chuckle, "Well if sometimes sharing a bed could be considered courting... I'll never forget his face when we explained to him that marriage was not in our foreseeable future"

"Utterly horrified really"

"Like a wounded dog"

"A wounded pup", Morgana corrects, smile a touch wistful, "a good thing we ended it"

The prince snickers, eyes warm, "yes, for our sanity. And those of our servants"

"Poor Gwen would blush from head to toe every time she came up against you leaving my chambers.", Morgana adds, eying his former lover.

"Yes ... Gwen...", Arthur cannot suppress the blur of dark curls and almond eyes that flash through his mind, warming his belly and curving his smirk into the softer features of a genuine, faint smile.

"My, my, be more whipped, I dare you", Morgana snickers, although her eyes are bereft of their former mirth, replaced by a colder tinge of blue, almost ice like in its sharpness.

Arthur meets her stare head on, features returning into an impassive mask, "I am not whipped. I do not have time to be whipped", his hand points to the stack of papers yet to be adorned by the royal sigil.

Morgana snorts, "yes, I guess the meretricious courtiers like Lady Isabelle are more to your liking. One quick lay before returning to the matters of the kingdom."

"Do I detect a touch of jealousy here?", Arthur asks, eyebrows raised.

Morgana lets out an annoyed sigh, "Yes, jealousy not to have been born a man. It is easier for you to satisfy your... _urges_, than it is for me. What with my need to marry and all"

"Oh you need not worry. Father will never ship you off to gods know were or have you married. He will never let you go", Arthur offers, his turn to betray a semblance of envy.

"Well you are tethered to this kingdom as well, Prince Arthur Pendragon", the name rolls out of her tongue like the bitter taste of resentment. "We are both trapped in these lands whether we like it or not"

Arthur watches as her eyes roam the walls of his chamber before sharply reverting back to him, and he bristles at the unfamiliar frailty seeping from her gaze "Don't you ever wish to break free, wish to have been born ... normal, common?"

The Prince offers a wistful smile, carefully treading this new territory Morgana never allowed them into during their past dealings with ne another, "Yes sometimes", he confesses. "But then I don't think I could lead a life without the idea that I will not shaped the world I am living in. I have a duty to this kingdom, to the people, it is a legacy that I don't think I could let go off."

He hesitates, faint smirk adorning his lips, meeting her eyes once more, "And let's be honest. I don't think I could relinquish the power that goes with our titles. The power to lead. Shape the world into our vision, our ideals."

Morgana snorts, hands scratching the rich wood of the desk beneath the pad of her fingers. She shakes her head, "I do not believe I could shape anything in this wretched kingdom, not with Uther's madness"

"Morgana-" Arthur warns, heaving a sigh

"Please, do not start with the excuses. Gwen would have been his next victim had Gaius died", she cuts feelingly, tone curt.

Arthur turns hard eyes toward her, "Yes, but we rescued him. And if I recall correctly you were not particularly willing to lend a helping hand"

Morgana's posture stiffens, eyes turning cold, "I had my reasons. The same reasons that will turn me against Uther if he ever touches her."

"He won't", Arthur states resolutely. "I won't let anything happen to her."

"Yes, I forgot of your surprising little new _friendship_."

Arthur rolls his eyes, crossing his arms as he rests his back against the chair, "Don't start Morgana"

The young ward raises her palms in a placating gesture, "I am not judging."

She chuckles at Arthur's raised eyebrow, "Fine, I might be judging but it's for her own good. Gwen, she has suffered way too much at the hands of the Pendragons, and people talk. A young woman, living alone. Suspicious. Let's not even start when this specific young _unmarried_ woman is constantly seen in the Prince's vicinity."

"I know", is the Prince's sole reply, as he rubs his tired eyes, raking a frustrated hand through his locks. "I know all this. And I have stopped seeking her."

"It takes more than that", Morgana interjects, "you should let her be. If you do anything foolish you smear her chance to a good life, to meet a good man, a good husband, have children, live a simple existence without the harm and danger of royalty. You wouldn't want her to spend the rest of her life being called the prince's whore behind her back, would you?"

"Of course not", Arthur scoffs, indignantly. He lets out a weary sigh, well aware of Morgana's expectant gaze upon him. The Prince glances up catching her eyes. "Do not worry. She made it very clear that my presence beside her was not wanted. I will not hurt her."

"The best way not to hurt her is to stay as far away from her as you can, "Morgana lets out and Arthur frowns. He tilts his head as if studying her posture, deciphering the undertones of her warning words.

The ward keeps her eyes level, not faltering from his challenging stare. At long last, the Prince replies, tone calm, "Well, I am not the one who denied her help to rescue her guardian. So I believe you are not so well suited to tell me about hurting her."

"Just let her be, Arthur", Morgana offers, voice soft yet brooking no argument.

She sends a faint parting nod his way before rising from her seat and heading toward the door.

"Morgana", she stops, turning to meet his questioning eyes, "What happened to Aredian, what happened to Paladin..."

Arthur gauges her reaction but he can only sense a faint bristle in her inviting smile, "I ruled the cases out of any scrutiny, but I cannot protect you as much as I would want to if you do not trust me more. And please heed your own advice, whatever may happen, make sure Gwen won't be hurt because of it."

The ward only offers another nod before disappearing from his chamber's egress.

And Arthur wishes he too could break free.

* * *

The wind strokes her cheeks and she tightens the cloak around her, as she treads toward the familiar path toward her Father's grave. Gwen closes her eyes, inhaling the scent of the wind as she lets the soft breeze guide her toward the abandoned forged turned makeshift cemetery.

Her mind wanders back to their rescue of Gaius, her heart aches when she recalls Morgana's betrayed eyes, she shivers when tinges of gold rush back, first heralds of Merlin's magic. And she cannot reign on her hammering heart when her mind summons the features of the Prince of Camelot, his hard eyes trained on Merlin, his faltering stare meeting hers.

She had seen the worst side of him that day. What most knights would keep hidden, what is never sang in ballads and songs. And yet she wasn't afraid. She didn't fear him. She only feared the affect of three days without any glance, nor word from him. He had effectively acquiesced to her request, stopped seeking her out, cut her of his everyday life.

And she was glad, glad that she wasn't wrong in her faith in him, in keeping his word to her, a mere commoner. And yet.

"Get a grip, Gwen", she mutters, admonishing herself as she crosses the river, climbing the small hill, before entering the former forge. She squints as the rays of the afternoon sunlight blur her vision before disappearing behind dark clouds.

Surprise and something she will not name grips at her heart as she draws near her Father's grave. There, instead of the haphazardly thrown rocks, a tombstone, made of the finest mineral in Camelot, juts from the ground. She reaches a trembling hand as the pads of her fingers touch the smooth surface, the polished touch attesting of its royal origin.

She kneels before the stone to see engraved the tribute offered to her Father and wills away the burning waters chaffing her eyes as she reads the words.

_A true and loyal servant of Camelot._

_A man of honor who died serving his Kingdom._

_A loving father who will be remembered._

_A legacy that will not be forgotten_

She presses her fingers on her lips, breathing away another wave of tears, before letting her mouth curve into a watery smile.

The words come out in a whisper, wisps offered to the wind, "Arthur ..."

She holds his name close to her heart, the six letters and two syllables lingering in the maze of her thoughts, brushing against her feelings, as she weaves her way through the remainder of the day.

Dusk is about to spread its copper coloured veil on the kingdom when she reaches the streets of the Lower Ward, blue eyes and fair hair assaulting her every thought, her mind wandering to her most inner memories while her legs will her back toward her home.

The first echoes of a familiar voice come to tear her out of her thoughts. She frowns rushing towards her cot and it is not long before she sees his silhouette standing before the entrance of her home.

"Gaius", she calls, a small smile to her lips, "I hope you did not wait for long"

The now former royal physician shakes his head, leaning on the crutches that had become part of his life after he was saved from the fate Uther had sentenced him to. Although his rescue didn't leave him unscathed, the burning fire of the pyre claiming his right leg as retribution. Gwen can still see the dark marks on his ashen skin as the old man juggles with the wooden canes, offering her a tight smile.

The maid opens her dwelling, ushering him in.

She busies herself making tea, as Gaius sits with difficulty at the table at the centre of her house.

As she places a scalding mug before him, she offers a questioning look, "What brings you here today? You should rest. You need to rest after what happened", she lets out, worried eyes roaming the creased lines of his features.

She can see Gaius's eyes turn grim before offering another tight smile and her heart aches for him.

The old man takes a sip from his beverage before turning sharp eyes toward Gwen and the maid bristles at the new coldness that invited itself into the formerly merry features of her guardian.

"What I will tell you might startle you Gwen but it is high time we had this discussion.", the old man starts.

He locks pupils with her before letting out the words that stuns her into silence, "I know what Ethelfleda asked you to do. And I will help you."

* * *

**Tadaa. Okay first please don't kill me. Second, please don't kill me. Third, please- well, you get my drift...**

**Sorry, I had a very eventful year, (changing jobs, changing countries, absolutely loathing Merlin season 4, discovering Game of Thrnoes and the doomed ship that is Rhaegar Targaryen&Elia Martell ...) so i kind of put the story into the backburner but hey it's nano wrimo month and the very sweet reviews inspired me to revisit it. I shall finish it although i'll be honest i don't know when. i'm planning if everything goes well for the end of year because there are still 4 to 5 chapters left. but yeah... we will see.**

**Sorry for the lack of actual romance in this new installment but for me it will be kind of unrealistic to have them just run into each others arms and to the hell with the others. They are very duty bound, restrained characters so to make them kiss out of nowhere would be kind of OOC although i'm itching to make them kiss and do the deed sooner rather than later. so for anyone interested, hang in there i guess.**

**As for Arthur being a dog, well, he's a dude. LOL. Humans have urges espcially when you're a prince, with responsabilities, morning drills and all, you sometimes got to let go of some steam and i don't see him as being the love sick puppy that will hold on virginity or abstinence for this one lovely girl. Arthur and Gwen are still very much in denial and very pragmatic people as well. And as every human, they are flawed,. Especially Arthur, he's certainly not pure white knight in shing armour. Besides, it's even better for Gwen because when they will have sex, well, let's say that at least he will know how to use his hands. (yes the sex scene has already been written, just waiting for the right moment to put it into the story...)**

**Special thanks to razorstar90 for gently, very gently kicking my butt and inspiring me to rekindle this story. I hope work and life don't bite my ass much so i can finish this as fast as possible. thanks for the kind words nonetheless.**

**And hope you enjoyed this chapter ;)**


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